#bokuto kotarou fanfic

[bookskeepers]

surprise surprise - bokuto kōtarō

pairing: timeskip ! bokuto kōtarō x gn ! reader

word count: 1,392

content warning: sad bokuto (but only for a bit i promise), fluff, surprises, lovie as a pet name, hopefully cute, established relationship, kōtarō is, in fact, emotionally immature but we love him for it (he is my husband)

a/n: this idea came to me in a dream (oops) so i hope you all enjoy it as much as i did (p.s. who knew writing self insert fics on tumblr was so self indulgent (me. i did))

A FEW WEEKS AGO

The two of you were seated on your shared bed, a position you often found yourself in whenever Bokuto was down in the dumps. He, of course, was unhappy with the news that he'd have to go abroad for his next set of matches with Japan's national volleyball team. When he was telling you about it, there were tears in his eyes and his hair seemed to droop to reflect his downtrodden mood. His large hands had clasped yours, holding them against his chest, and you felt his heartbeat through the material of his shirt.

"Kō," you had said, freeing one of your hands to gently caress his cheek. "It's only a few weeks, lovie. It's not that long."

He let out a whine at your words, clearly in much more distress than you were. "But a few weeks without you feels like forever!" he complains, taking the chance to scoot closer to you and rest his head on your shoulder. "And... and you're my good luck charm, so what if we do badly? And the last match will be on my birthday and it'll be my first birthday without you in a while!"

You gave him a soft smile, rubbing your thumb across his cheekbone (at least, you hoped it was his cheek -- you couldn't quite see what you were rubbing since his head was on your shoulder). "I'll watch from the TV and send you texts! I'll be there in spirit," you promised. "And you'll get to come back to a birthday present, isn't that awesome?"

This seemed to alleviate his mood somewhat, as he lifted his head off your shoulder and looked into your eyes. Hope gleamed in those beautiful golden eyes of his. "You promise?" he asked, his voice cracking ever so slightly.

"Pinkie promise," you replied, removing your hand from his face to hold out your pinkie. He twisted his own pinkie with yours, nodding resolutely.

He departed the next day, and, while you weren't as expressive as he was, you could feel your heart sting a bit as his large frame left your apartment. Every temporary goodbye was the same with him, but that's how it was when you were used to sharing the same bed every night.

A FEW DAYS AGO

An idea popped into your head while you're at your job. You could feel the exhaustion weighing on your limbs as you go through the motions, doing the tasks that were expected of you. Every time Bokuto had to leave for some form of volleyball-related activity, you found yourself sleeping less -- and this time was no different.

However, what was different from previous trips was the idea forming in your mind. Bokuto loves surprises in any form, and the lightbulb going off in your head would be the biggest surprise of all. When you're finally free from your occupation, you rushed home, willing the metro to run faster. It doesn't, but being in a hurry makes it feel like it was crawling at a snail's pace.

Upon your arrival, you barely managed to kick off your shoes before you're sitting in front of your computer, opening a new tab to start planning your surprise in detail.

PRESENT

Another miss is all that runs through Bokuto's head as he spikes the ball on the opposing court, only for it to hit out of bounds. It feels like every shot that Atsumu set for him's a waste, since he can't seem to land any points. Every single blocked spike and out-of-bounds fail is met with a resounding, "Don't mind!" from the rest of the team. It's even worse when Atsumu switches out with Kageyama, because the black-haired setter fixates a glare on him whenever he doesn't succeed.

It's only halfway through the first set, with the Japan national team being ahead despite Bokuto's fumbles. Anyone could see that the #4 outside hitter is off his game, but only his teammates actually knew why -- it was his birthday, and he isn't spending it with you.

After several more failures on his end, he starts getting into his own head. His mood drops to the point where the coach swaps him out with Hoshiumi, and that's when Bokuto really feels his spirits vanish. He slumps on the bench, ignoring the attempts of the coach and the manager to cheer him up. Insults aimed at himself run rampant through his mind, and he can't seem to make them stop. The missed shots, compounded with not seeing you on his birthday, create a volatile mixture that resulted in his depressed state.

He wishes he could check his phone to see if you texted, to see what unique commentary you always send him whenever you're watching him play on the television. But, alas, he's stuck on the volleyball court, glued to the bench, eyes on the floor.

So deep in negative thoughts that he doesn't quite notice when your familiar figure stands at the sidelines, nor does he notice it when you call his name several times. It takes the national team's coach giving Bokuto a rather harsh shove on the shoulder to snap him out of his spiraling.

It looks like it's taking him every ounce of his strength to lift his head up to look at the couch, who then gestures in your direction. A soft smile etches itself onto your face as he slowly turns his head to look at you, and you can see the gears working behind his eyes when the two of you make eye contact. His posture slowly straightens, and a furrow appears in his brows.

"Is... is that really you or am I hallucinating?" he asks, half to you and half to himself. You can't really hear him from where you're standing, but you've been with Bokuto long enough to guess what he was saying.

In response, you hold your hands out, your smile widening as he jumps up and runs over to you. "You're here, you're really here!" he exclaims as he easily hops the divider and hugs you tightly, lifting you off your feet and spinning you around. He plants a big kiss on your lips, and you have to prevent yourself from melting into it before he separates. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to surprise you, Kō," you reply, watching as his smile grows even wider. "Happy birthday, lovie."

He gives you another big hug before a shrill whistle pierces the air, in which he whips around to look at the court. "Okay, okay, don't go anywhere! I'll be back to shower you in hugs and kisses when the game's over!" he calls over his shoulder as he hops the divider, beaming as the coach puts him back in the game.

Your appearance seems to reinvigorate him, as he's suddenly slamming spike after spike within bounds, either via insane line shot or even crazier cross shot. Within no time, the Japan national team beats its opponent in both the first and second set, leading to its victory. Bokuto cheers the loudest out of his entire team, exchanging high fives with Atsumu and Hinata before running back over to you. You're still standing in the same spot you chose after your arrival, but your grin is as wide as his.

He holds his hands up for a high five and you enthusiastically give him two. "You did amazing, Kō!" you exclaim, dropping your hands from high-five position to his shoulders.

He turns bright pink, as if that's the first compliment you've ever given him (it was not). He mumbles something under his breath, and you have to somehow get closer to hear him, despite your proximity.

"What was that?"

"I said, you're my good luck charm, of course I did amazing!" he replies -- a little too loudly -- before wrapping his arms around your waist and holding you close. "Did you book a hotel room?" he murmurs into your hair, and you have to strain your ears to hear him over the din of the crowd going crazy.

"No, I kind of assumed we'd be staying in the same room?" you respond, your pitch increasing at the end to indicate your hopefulness.

"Of course we're staying in the same room," he responds. "After all, I can't spend my birthday without you!"

[leahrintarou]

☠︎︎ DAY TWENTY: BODY WORSHIP FT. BOKUTO

☠︎︎ WARNINGS: requested! insecure reader, nipple play, orgasm from nipple stimulation, soft!dom bokuto

☠︎︎ WORD COUNT: 1.2k

after a busy week, y/n and bokuto decided that it'd be fitting to stay in and relax with each other for the weekend. bokuto was currently laying on his abdomen, propped up by his elbows as he'd scroll through the social apps on his phone.

y/n was currently doing the same, resting her head on her lover's back, holding her phone above her face. they'd been quiet for a while, enjoying the sounds of the busy streets below them. the window behind the bed's headboard was sightly leveled high enough for fresh air to pass through the mesh layered behind the glass.

y/n's eyes focused on the screen of her phone, admiring all of the 'perfect' labeled figures. despite wanting to focus her mind onto a different topics, she couldn't help but continuing to scroll from image to image, a goal in mind that there would be someone with a similar body type as her.

the more she scrolled, the more hope was lost and instead replaced with insecurities. she were finally able to swipe out of the endless feed, but without even realizing, she'd instead opened her gallery before clicking on the album in which contained many captured moments of she and bokuto.

a smile crept onto her lips but just as fast as it arrived, it'd left as she now took into notice of her own figure in each and every one of those pictures. as she swiped through each of them, the only thing stopping her from tapping onto the 'trash' icon was bokuto's smile in each pixelated photo.

the silence was soon broken when the sound of bokuto's acknowledging hum was made audible. y/n didn't even notice it until his figure rolled away from under her relaxed head, immediately meeting with the fabric of the bed's comforter. she let out a frustrated grown at the lost contact, staring up at the ceiling before her field of vision was blocked with bokuto's smiling expression hat now hovered above her.

bokuto noticed how y/n barely returned his smiled, causing him to cup the sides of y/n's face, using his thumbs to tug at the corner of her lips, forcing her to smile. she swatted away his hands before noticing how he began to lean down to press a kiss to her forehead. "why are you in a shitty mood all of a sudden?" he questioned, giving her enough space so she could sit up correctly.

"nothing important"

"if it's making you sad, of course its important" bokuto replied, standing up from the bed. y/ n's eye's failed to track his figure, instead, in a daze as her previous thoughts continued to circulate in her head. it startled her when she felt the weight of bokuto lazily slouch over her crisscrossed seating figure. "wanna shower with me?" he questioned, lips directly next to her ear as he awaited for her response.

she hesitantly nodded, the action slightly unusual to bokuto making him squint his eyes at her own, in suspicion. his arms encased her figure, clumsily pulling her off of the bed as she let out and unpleasant call of his name due to his sudden action.

-----------

as y/n got dressed, she couldn't help but get distracted by the mirror's reflection of herself. her surroundings appeared as a blur, the only clear image were she, herself. y/n's expression practically read 'unsatisfied', her eye's lingering on every fragment of her image long enough to not realize that bokuto had entered their shared bedroom.

"n/n?"

y/n quickly blinked herself out of her dazed state before looking over to bokuto's figure. she reached for a t-shirt to quickly pull over her head to cover up her exposed figure but her actions were stopped by bokuto's voice and the contact that his palm made with her abdomen. "n/n" this time her name were called with more of a serious and less confused tone.

"hm?" she questioned, meeting his gaze as she looked over her shoulder to tilt her head a bit. "why are you being so distant today? are you mad at me?" he questioned. y/n immediately denied his theory, shaking her head and noticing how he slightly relaxed at the reassurance. he took the shirt from her hold, tossing it onto the bed before, turning her figure around to face him.

"what's wrong then, pretty?"

"koutarou, i don't feel good" she mumbled, immediately continuing her words when his expression morphed into one of worry. "I mean, in my body. I don't feel good about it. in fact, I don't really like it-" y/n's word were stopped when the bokuto's hand gently palmed her face, stopping her from continuing another set of words.

"that's what's been on your mind all day?" he questioned, watching as she stumbled a bit from his sudden action. she didn't reply but instead reached for the shirt that was previously tossed onto the bed. "n/n, come here" he motioned, smiling when she followed his words.

he tangled his arms around her, pulling y/n closer to himself, noticing how they made skin to skin contact since they'd just finish their shower and had yet to get fully dressed. "koutarou.." he notice how her eyes were filled with regret from her previous confession before he placed a kiss to her lips. "I'm glad you told me what was bothering you".

"and I know I can't change how you feel so easily but, I can at least show you how much I love you for you and you only"

another kiss was pressed to y/n's lips, stopping her from mouthing a reply. bokuto's hand released from around her waist before he found the ones of y/n. he parted their kiss before trailing down to her bare chest, practically expressing his thoughts through the bruised marking that began to become visible on her skin.

soft moans grazed his loose strands of hair as bokuto's warming touch felt so prominent in the low temperature that filled the room. pleasurable moans fell against her skin as bokuto pulled her needy figure closer against himself.

usually, during their intimately shared moments, bokuto would always focus on every part of her body at one time but this time it was different. he carefully guided y/n backwards so she'd be allowed to lay down onto the bed to relax against his touch. "you're so perfect to me, n/ n". bokuto mumbled, taking a glance up to y/n's bothered expression.

his hand reached up to the unoccupied side of her chest, kneading the area in the warm hold of his palm. y/n let out a moan at the sudden pressure when it was accompanied by the action of his tongue flickering against the bruised and sensitive bud of her other breast. she was shocked at the feeling of an overwhelming pleasure suddenly engulfing her.

the volume of her voice raised just enough to satisfy bokuto's ears, as that familiar feeling rushed though her body, her attempt to gain a small amount of friction against bokuto's knee, only made him admire the sight even more.

"see? you're perfect." he smiled, watching as she panted from the unexpected peak that arrived at such a fast pace. "no-"

"can you do that for me again?"

[lemurzsquad]

Music to Owl Ears

After suddenly moving from America to Japan with only passable knowledge of the local language, you begin to attend Fukurodani Academy for their music program. And within the first five minutes of being there, you're accidentally knocked right into the shenanigans of the volleyball team, especially their famous owl ace.

Prologue

Pairing: Bokuto x musician fem!reader

Summary: The reader is an American who has suddenly moved to Japan, attending Fukurodani Academy for its music program. (Full summary and cw in masterlist)

A/N: This is absolutely a shameless self-insert. I wanted a cute Bokuto x reader fic with a musician, specifically one that plays my main instruments, so this also serves as a love letter to all my fellow musicians out there. I will try to update this when I can, and I can add a taglist if anyone is interested TvT this is my first Haikyuu fic, so hopefully it's alright.

I hope you enjoy!!

Word count: 725

cw: slight emotional rollercoaster for reader

"Bold for English"

"Normal for Japanese"

- Masterlist -

- Prologue | Ch 1: Jogging Laps >

You stood at the entrance, the sign reading “Fukurodani Academy”; although, you’re certain you would not have been able to make out what it said given you didn't already know the name.

It was about to be your first day in a new school year, in a new school, in a new country. Did being a third year with barely passable Japanese and no friends terrify you? Absolutely. But, unfortunately, the only thing to do now was take that step onto campus and start, you supposed.

And so you did. The first step wasn't so bad, it seemed. The next seemed easier, perhaps. The nervous shaking you felt in your hands was becoming ever more apparent as you clutched your bag that in and of itself felt weird, considering you were so used to a heavy backpack.

All that was left was to make it to class and all would be right with the world. You could begin the school year on a positive note with no incidents right off the bat and a fresh start. It was simple, really.

But oh, you knew better than to jinx it, even in your own head.

You took a deep breath and tried your best to put on a smile just for yourself. You thought, I can do this. It'll be fine. What could possibly happen on my way there? And there it was.

You quietly let out the breath you held for a moment as you attempted to push down the nagging anxieties that tried to resurface. In a stroke of bad luck—or good luck, depending on how you looked at it, maybe years from then—you failed to hear the sounds of shoes hitting pavement behind you. In an instant, it all came crashing down; you were slammed in the shoulder, throwing you off balance. You barely managed to stop yourself from falling face first into the concrete, instead landing on your back, braced by your elbows.

As you stared ahead, completely and utterly stunned and staggered, you sat up. It was then that everything hit you like a ton of bricks.

You were completely blindsided when all the emotions you had narrowly kept behind a dam inevitably flooded through you. You didn't know whether to laugh or cry at how ridiculous it was that simply falling over finally broke you and your patchy attempt to bottle everything in, so you did both.

There you sat at the edge of the entrance to Fukurodani Academy, laughing as anguished tears dripped down your cheeks. The fear and emotional distress of moving to Japan was hitting you for, truly, the first time, and there was nothing you could do to stop it. You hiccuped in spurts, disbelief and bewilderment at your own reaction running through your mind while a pained grin sat plastered on your tear-stained, reddened face.

You didn't notice the figure, now standing in front of you, shouting, “BOKUTO!” off to the side and further down the sidewalk. You didn't notice when they exchanged worried glances that you might be hurt and unsure how to react to your state of hysteria.

Eventually you calmed down enough to return the confused looks that peered down at you. You made eye contact with worried blue and guilty gold before stuttering out with an embarrassed chuckle, “Sorry, I must have not been paying attention and– oh, wait—” When you see their eyes widen slightly, you realized you had instinctively started apologizing in English as a default and quickly corrected yourself to a simple, “Sorry…” in Japanese with your still heavy American accent.

You gave them a lopsided smile as you wiped your tears. You could never have imagined at the time, as you were grabbed by the shoulders and hoisted to your feet with such strength you could only let it happen in your dazed state, that it would be the defining pivot in what could have been a prison of loneliness and isolation in a new year, in a new school, in a new country. But, while you were overwhelmed with a torrent of apologies and “sorry”’s and “please, please, please forgive me”’s, the key to your unlocked cell seemed to be snatched and thrown where no one could have possibly found it again.

And, just maybe, you considered tempting fate more often in the future.

Thank you for reading!! <333

- Masterlist -

- Prologue | Ch 1: Jogging Laps >

Do not copy and/or repost!! Any likes or reblogs are appreciated, though! (c) 2024 LemurzSquad

[jplupine]

Title: Hawk Dog

Words: 31,926 (Completed)

Rating: M [✨🩸🍋🍖]

Pub Date: Aug 13, 2018

Pairing: Bokuto Kotaro (M) x Takachi Ukai (F)

Summary: Takachi can find the easiest way to do something just to get out of doing a lot of work. She rarely speaks, and the only thing she is really seen doing most of the time is reading manga or staring off into space. Even though Takachi is mostly seen this way, she's got another side that she represses due to its....awkwardness. She had a strange upbringing that caused her to have some 'oddities', and certain things can trigger this other side of hers to appear. Good thing she encounters a bunch of weirdos to also be her friends.

Where to find it: AO3 || Wattpad

[haikyuudescendants]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BOKUTO.

El sonido de unas diminutas explosiones se escuchó, y la vista de Kotarou se llenó de colores. Cuando logró enfocarse notó que frente a él estaban Kuroo y Suga, sonriéndole. Ambos se veían emocionados, y detrás en una gran mesa decorada había comida, unas cajas coloridas, y otras cosas más. El heredero al trono de Auradon estaba ahí también, usando ropa casual por una vez, y Daichi Sawamura servía una bebida transparente para él y para Oikawa. Todos lo saludaron y al unísono Kotarou pudo escuchar un enérgico “Feliz cumpleaños”.

inspired by chapter nine "a song for the heartsick" of my fanfic.

[unlikephoenix]

HQ FANFIC RECS

DISCLAIMER: None of the post on this blog are my own. This blog purely exists to support and save my favorite fanfics. Please go to the original poster and support them.

↵ Back to main post

A

Akashi Keiji

Alumnae Asahi

Aone Takanobu

B

Bokuto Kotarou

D

Daisho Suguru

G

Goshiki Tsutomu

H

Haiba Lev

Hanamaki Takhiro

Hinata Shoyo

I

Iwazumi Hajime

K

Kageyama Tobio

Kira Shinsuke

Koganegawa Kanji

Kozume Kenma

Kuroo Tetsurou

M

Matsukawa Issei

Median Shugo

Miya Atsumu

Miya Osamu

N

Nishinoya Yu

O

Oikawa Toru

Ojiro Aran

S

Sakusa Kiyoomi

Sawamura Daichi

Semi Eita

Sugawara Koshi

Suna Rintaro

Shimizu Kiyoko

T

Takeda Ittetsu

Tanaka Ryunosuke

Tendou Satori

Tsukishima Kei

U

Ukai Keishin

Ushijima Wakatoshi

Y

Yachi Hitoka

Yaku Morisuke

Yamaguchi Tadashi

Yamamoto Taketora

[kn1feinthec0ffee]

my pretty boy - kotarou bokuto

kotarou bokuto x nb!reader

summary: after coming home from work one day, you accidentally discover a new favorite pet name.

warnings: none

word count: 581

notes: this is PURELY self indulgent and based on a tiktok i saw where this nb person wanted their boyfriend to call them pretty boy and i heavily related to that, which spawned this so i hope u enjoy :D

(n/n - your nickname)

********************

“i’m home, kotarou!” you called out, dropping your bags and slumping against the door. the combination of last nights lack of sleep and the overtime you just returned from working proved to be a recipe for exhaustion. quite literally the only thing that got you through the day was the thought of seeing the man that just poked his head out from around the corner, bounding over to see you.

“you look so tired, n/n, did they work you too hard?” bokuto pulled you into his arms in a comforting embrace you desperately needed. after pulling away, he held your face in his hands. “d’ya wanna kiss, pretty boy?”

the moment his words sunk in, your eyes went as wide as saucers. a giddy feeling filled your chest, what was it? embarrassment? no, that didn’t seem right; this feeling was far too positive to be embarrassment. why did two simple words conjure up such a complex yet gratifying emotion?

“w-what did you call me?” you uttered, your cheeks surely burning a flaming shade of red.

“what, ‘n/n’? i always call you that,” bokuto murmured, brows furrowed in confusion. “o-oh, you mean the other thing! it just kinda slipped out, i’m sorry, i won’t call you that anymore if it makes you uncomfortable, it’s-”

“no!” you blurted out, cutting him off. “it’s fine, you can keep saying it, i kinda liked it.”

although your voice trailed off towards the end of your sentence, bokuto still heard your words, but he wanted to toy with you a bit more.

“what was that? speak up, pretty boy, i can’t hear you,” he grinned wolfishly.

you blushed profusely before looking down at the ground and repeating yourself, still in a lower tone. “i said you can keep using it, i kinda like it.”

“say that again, pretty boy? i missed it,” he smiled ear to ear.

“oh shut up you heard me!” you fumed, face burning but this time out of annoyance rather than nerves.

“you’re absolutely right; i heard you loud and clear, pretty boy,” he spoke smugly, earning a dramatic groan from you. “fine, i’ll stop.”

filled with curiosity, bokuto ceased his teasing to ask a genuine question. “if you don’t mind me asking, why is it okay for me to call you that if it’s not a gender neutral term?”

you didn’t answer immediately; you had wondered the same thing yourself. when you had discovered your gender identity, you had felt uncomfortable with being referred to with both male and female pronouns, so why was it okay for your boyfriend to call you a boy? “i’m not really sure, to be honest. it just… felt nice? i don’t think i’m a guy, but i like being referred to like that sometimes.”

after a beat of silence, you were quick to jump in, lest your words be misinterpreted. “i-if that makes sense. it probably doesn’t, it’s weird, you don’t have to call me tha-”

“hey!” a finger met your lips before you could continue speaking. “you don’t have to explain yourself to me. whatever you’re comfortable with is fine by me, especially if it gets this much of a reaction out of you; you’re so cute when you blush like that!”

you groaned, cupping your face in your palms. what have i done?

planting a quick kiss on your lips, bokuto was off to the kitchen, turning over his shoulder to call out, “by the way, dinner’s just about ready, pretty boy!”

“bokuto!”

********************

i’m trying to get more exposure so i’m tagging ppl that have interacted w my last haikyuu post but u can feel free to ask me to either add or remove u from my taglist!! i feel so bad every time i do this i feel so annoying ugh

tags: @asahipoopoo @elysianslove @lucieel @deadmansdoctor @mage-moon @aoi-turtle @hohoshiumi @mysterystarz @astranger83 @lexi-toquero​ @aestosia​

not working: @akaashis-keiji @bloodydestiney 

[coconutlimeverbena]

One of my favorite fanfic/romance tropes is when a character who is deemed to be Too Much™, or hard to love™ finally finds someone who lets them know that they're enough, and worthy of love.

Watching them go from being intentionally over-the-top in order to weed out the weak, to mellowing out once they realize that their real self is fine as-is, is a beautiful experience.

[let-me-simp-in-peace]

Butterfly Wings (Bokuto x Reader) Prologue

~

You didn’t find your life particularly boring. At least, not until you moved into this apartment building. Your neighbors were all very quiet and reserved people. They kept to themselves, and you didn’t mind that. However, there was one exception.

The man across the hall from you.

You didn’t know his name. You had only caught glimpses of the man himself. His hair, black with streaks of white running through it, and golden eyes reminded you of an owl. You could hear him yelling and laughing whenever he was home. The guy had people over often. Some form of sound was always coming from his apartment.

Though, you supposed you weren’t much better. You always had music blasting when you were home. You had a midnight baking habit and a dancing obsession, so you weren’t exactly quiet either. Besides, other than the owl boy, no one else lived on this floor, so there was really no need for you to keep it down.

There was one thing you had forgotten tonight, though. The sound effects from your video games could sometimes be heard from the hallway.

Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem, but there was the fact that it was:

1am

On a Wednesday

You were playing Call of Duty, a first person shooter.

The volume on your TV was much higher than you thought

Put all of that together, and you get a recipe for disaster.

How?

Because the poor bastard across the hall, who had just gotten home, scrambled through his door when gunshots echoed through the hallway. Within seconds, there was loud banging on your door. You paused your game and went to open it. You peeked through the peephole before reaching for the knob, only to pause and do a double take.

“What the fuck?”

You leaned back and opened the door. There on the other side was your owl haired neighbor, who was wielding a fake leg like a baseball bat.

“Hi?”

Seeing that you were both unharmed and completely unperturbed by the gunshots, the man only grew more confused. “Did you not hear them?!”

“Hear what?”

“The guns! The shooting!”

You blinked several times before a wave of guilt washed over your face. You scratched your cheek awkwardly. “That, uh, I’m playing Call of Duty..” You admitted apologetically.

Your neighbor stared at you for a long moment. “Oh.” He finally lowered the fake leg, and if you didn’t feel so awful for scaring him, you might have actually laughed at the sight.

“Can I play?”

“Huh?”

He smiled widely at you, his eyes shining. “It’s been a long time since I played that game.”

“I, uh, I mean, okay?” You stuttered unsurely.

“Oh right!” He held out his hand with a grin. “I’m Bokuto. Bokuto Koutarou.”

You took his hand hesitantly. “L/n Y/n.”

Little did you know, that one moment set into motion the events that would change your life forever.

Hey guys! I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I’d love to hear your thoughts!

~Madison✨

[boo-nito-flakes]

Synopsis: With the deadline for your third year Photo Club exhibition fast approaching, you turn to old projects for inspiration. You get more than you bargained for, though, when that inspiration leads you to a volleyball training camp hosted by your school.

Rating: teen (swearing, a lot of kissing, implied sexual content)

Word count: 11.2k (part one), 9.9k (part two), 14.2k (part three)

Tags: f! reader, getting together, fluff and (light) angst, mostly fluff, mutual pining, friend drama, first love, summer training camp

are you busy? :You

Takka: depends

i think my zuiko is scratched :You

 Takka: hmmm this involves me how? 

ouch :You 

Takka: its easy to tell if your lens is scratched

Takka: you just look at it 

you do a better job removing them though :You 

Takka: lol so it is scratched…

Takka: and you’re trying to con me into doing your dirty work

Takka: they pay me at the lab to do this shit you know 

i can be at our spot with pork buns and a maybe scratched lens in an hour :You 

Takka: okay

It took a long time for the last message to come through. His messages all came with a slight delay—short enough that you knew he was holding his phone, but long enough to tell he stared hard at the screen before hitting send. That was how you sent each of yours, at least. Mostly because you chickened out and replaced the ‘ lets meet up and talk ’ with a lame excuse about a barely used camera lens (that actually was scratched… but you’d known about it for at least two months and deemed it not important enough to fix right away) at the last second. 

You flipped around on your bed until your feet were on the floor instead of propped against the wall. The longer you stared at his last message, the more your stomach hurt. Okay. One word that felt like a thousand. One word that felt like too much and not enough all at once. Takami was a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid. As you tossed your bag together (it took you way longer than you would’ve liked to find the zuiko lens, the case buried beneath lost socks and uniform bows under your bed) you came to two realizations. 

Takami undoubtedly knew this meetup wasn’t just about a scratched lens.

And even if he didn’t, the conversation was still going to happen. It still needed to happen. 

“You’re heading out?” 

Startled, you dropped one of your sneakers and looked up from the genkan. You hadn’t heard your mom return from work for the day, and from the look of it—she hadn’t been home for more than a few minutes. Still dressed in office clothes, open laptop propped on a pillow, she looked at you from the couch with an arched eyebrow. 

As much as that eyebrow annoyed you, you were relieved to see it. A veritable sign of life after weeks of closed bedroom doors, muffled tears, and stacks of dirty dishes.

“Oh, yeah.” You waved at your bag, camera gear peeking from the top, in lieu of an adequate explanation and resumed tying your shoes.

She hummed a knowing sound and said, “Don’t stay out too late, okay? And take an umbrella, it’s supposed to rain later.”

“Really?” Skeptical, you peered over your shoulder to look through the curtains in the living room. There wasn’t a cloud in sight, the sky a perfect gradation of pinks and blues as the sun teased the horizon. 

“Yes, really. It’s summer storm season, don’t give me that look.”

“I’m not giving you any look,” you iterated, trapping your bottom lip between your teeth, “this is just what my face looks like.”

“So I’ve heard.” 

You didn’t really have the time to bicker with your mom about Tokyo weather patterns (even though the thought of staying in to do so instead of leaving to probably maybe end a three year friendship crossed your mind), and carrying around a cumbersome umbrella to make her happy was the least you could do. You fumbled around the front closet, draping your body over winter jackets and dusty board games, until you found a collapsible umbrella tucked away in a corner. Your mom’s voice, subdued by the capacious Narnia-ness of the front closet, drifted your way as you reemerged.

“—I’ll just get take away, then. Any preference?”

You thought about Takami and the pork buns you promised him; you were fairly certain neither of you would have an appetite for them, but you’d take them anyway.

“Whatever is fine,” you dismissed as you checked your phone for the time.

Behind schedule, of course. Not wanting to waste any more time (while simultaneously wanting to waste ALL the time), you rushed through a goodbye, waving your umbrella in your mom’s direction—door already propped half open with your foot. Beating Takami to your typical spot would take a miracle. At the very least, an empty train station and a perfectly timed order at the convivence market.

Your spot wasn’t special by any means, but you’d spent too many evenings drinking beer stolen borrowed from Itagaki’s brother or geeking out over photo comps on the dental clinic roof for it to be anything less than sacred in your eyes. Emiyo’s mom worked at the clinic and didn’t seem to notice or mind that her daughter not only duplicated the fire escape key but frequented the roof with her friends. The former, you assumed, since Emiyo and Itagaki also used the roof for… whatever it is they did alone (you knew exactly what they got up to alone—Emiyo was the type to kiss and tell) when they were desperate for a little privacy.

Some of the best times of your life were spent on the clinic’s roof. Bickering over who got to be in control of the music. Lying on your backs trying not to appear too buzzed from a single beer—being buzzed enough to pretend you could see stars through the city’s light pollution. Camera tricks and pretentious artsy photo compositions. The smell of developer powder and burnt ginger. Melted candy forgotten in the bottom of your bag. Scraped knees from the fire escape ladder (the third rung was perpetually loose) and sweaty collars. Long nights tempting fate, talking about everything and nothing until well past curfew.

 It was poetic, you decided, in a fucked up way that things with Takami would come to a head on the clinic roof. Your spot. 

The A-Line wasn’t busy and you only waited a few minutes for fresh pork buns, but the popped lock on the fire escape was as sure a sign as any that Takami arrived before you. Swallowing your heart—it worked its way up your throat on the short walk from the market to the clinic, a rapid thump, thump, thump that threatened to betray you with every step—you climbed to the rooftop.

Sure enough, Takami was waiting for you. Back propped against a humming air conditioning unit, one leg pressed up to his chest. He barely spared you a glance as you walked towards him.

“Hey,” you greeted once you were a little closer.

Nonchalance was hard when you were both annoyed and hurt by Takami’s cold shoulder. You deserved it, though, so you grit your teeth and kneeled beside him—eventually tucking one leg beneath your body as you tried to get comfortable. The grease stained bag of pork buns, paper curling from the steam, felt like a peace offering as you dangled it at arm’s length.

“I waited for fresh ones,” you said, waving the bag around until he took it from you. Hands free, you tugged your bag around and pulled out the rest of your 7-11 bounty: custard puffs and bottled teas (because there was no way you were getting through this conversation without sugar and caffeine). You nodded at the drink as you handed it to him. “This is the new flavor you really like, right?”

He rolled his eyes, twirling the neck between two fingers. “Yeah. Thanks.”

It was sarcastic and brassy. It grated against your ears, and even though you were able to suppress the urge to roll your eyes back you couldn’t help but bite back. 

“Fine.” You pinched the bottle out of his hands, finding way too much satisfaction in his rumbling protest. “If you’re going to be a dick, I’ll keep it for myself.”

He said your name despairingly. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. Ask nicely and maybe I’ll consider sharing.” 

A beat passed, tense and drawn out, before he scoffed, “Childish.”

Takami looked at you, his dark eyes unreadable. It was the first time he looked at you—really looked at you—all evening. Your skin crawled under the sudden scrutiny, but you held your ground. Raised an eyebrow and stared back. The seconds ticked by and then slowly, you raised the bottle—dangling it between your fingers the way Takami had—wiggling it back and forth in front of him.

“No, this would be childish,” you said pointedly, tutting when he reached for it. The noise he made didn’t sound like an apology, so you peeled the plastic seal with your nail and popped the top. “Or this,” you said before taking a sip, humming at the sweet fruit flavor. You met Takami’s eyes as you lowered the drink, quirking a brow to meet his furrowed ones. Because you could, you tugged at your eyelid and stuck your tongue out at him. “Or that. That was pretty childish.” 

The gulf between the two of you felt wider than it ever had, deep trenches carved by your hands. You were the liar, after all. Takami’s eyes were wide and incredulous, holding you in place. You were less sure of yourself under the weight of his stare this time. Blood pulsed in your ears like rushing water. Your shoulders dropped and you looked away, focusing on the rusted corner of the air conditioning unit.

Then—

 Takami laughed. He laughed . The bitter edge chipped away, leaving nothing but pure amusement. It swelled like frothy waves, as surprising as any summer storm. You looked up, questions swimming in your eyes.

“You’re a fuckin’ idiot,” he said, shaking his head a little.

Your grin cracked slow, eating away at some of the tension. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” You swirled the bottle between your fingers. “Are you going to ask nicely or am I finishing this?” 

“Like I want your spit juice.”

“Spit juice, huh?” you wiggled a brow and laughed, delighted at the pink hue coloring Takami’s cheeks. “Sounds kind of kinky.”

“Shut up,” he grumbled as he swiped the unopened tea from the bag at your side.

“What exactly is spit juice, anyway? Like that little dribble—”

 Takami groaned your name, more exasperated than flustered. “Stop, stop. We’re not talkin’ about this.” 

“Party pooper.”

 “Pervert,” he shot back, snickering, then gestured towards your bag. His eyes were softer—they were still guarded, giving Takami an edge that made him look older than he was—but there was a hint of tenderness in the way he looked at you. You only got a glimpse before he cast his eyes down. “Let me see how bad you desecrated this lens.”

“Now whose the dramatic one,” you muttered, setting the drink aside so you could grab the lens. “I didn’t desecrate it—it’s just a scratch.”

“Hmm. That’s what you said about that beaker of ammonia in the Chemistry Lab last year—”

“We agreed to not talk about that ever again!” 

“—right before ya’ broke it and spilled it on like, four other chemicals.”

“It was only three, and it was an accident.” 

“You made a toxic gas.” Takami said your name for emphasis, chuckling, “We had to evacuate the building.”

“It’s always ‘she almost killed us’ and never ‘thanks for getting us out of the rest of the exam’. Matsui gave everyone a pass on that unit… so you’re welcome .”

“Hayashi passed out.”

“I apologize to Himi-chan!” you exclaimed, narrowing your eyes. “And she feinted from the excitement, not the gas.” Around a bite of a now cold pork bun, you added, “She’s always been skittish and timid. You heard about the time she passed out during Calligraphy Club when someone got a papercut, right?”

Takami stopped squinting at your damaged lens to squint at you, his frown deepening by the second. “Your inability to take responsibility for things is truly amazin’.”

You stopped chewing, taken aback by the sudden callousness. It felt a hell of a lot like an olive branch snapping. Whiplash—sharp and dizzying. You forced yourself to swallow, clearing your throat before reiterating, “I said I apologized.”

“Two different things,” he murmured, gaze returning the lens temporarily before fluttering back to your face. “Sayin’ sorry and takin’ responsibility. They’re two different things.”

You didn’t need him to tell you that.

The tase in your mouth—all coagulated grease and tinny oyster sauce��soured. Of all people, you didn’t need him to tell you that . You needed to tell him. Should’ve told him long ago. Shouldn’t have kept pretending, even when it was painfully obviously to everyone you were lying through your teeth. 

“Takka—”

“How’d you scratch this, anyways?” he interrupted. 

Being dismissed hurt almost as much as the almost arrogant nonchalance he spoke to you with. You pressed the pads of your fingers to the ground, nails digging at the vinyl rooftop tiles, and exhaled through your nose. Maybe you deserved it… but Takami’s apathy stung, all the same.

“I don’t know.” Voice hoarse, you shrugged, “The flea market in Yurakucho?”

It felt like an eternity passed before he finally said, “That was months ago.”

Again, you shrugged. “Yeah.”

What else was there to say? The silence stretched. You could’ve fessed up—taken responsibility for the way your friendship had fallen apart (taken responsibility for a lot of things, really)—but the moment didn’t feel right. 

Instead, you sat and watched Takami remove the faint scratch on your lens. He rummaged around his messenger bag for the supplies before setting to task, dampening a fresh microfiber with rubbing alcohol. The cloth squeaked against the glass in short, delicate strokes. He inspected the lens, brows bunching as he spun it in the dimming evening light, before buffing the surface again. You’d seen Takami do the same routine enough times to know he was going purposefully slow.

His brows were still tense when he eventually handed you the lens. Absently, you chewed on your bottom lip as you pretended to check over his work. The glass sparked, smooth and unmarred. It hadn’t been all that scratched to begin with…a  superficial mark, neglected for months until you needed a convenient excuse. 

Takami sipped his tea while you hummed, but you could only stall for so long.

“Why did you message me?” The way Takami said your name made your chest ache . “Don’t give me some bullshit about the lens.” 

“It’s not about the lens.” You wiped your clammy palms on your bare knees, biting back a comment about how the lens really was scratched and needed fixed. It was an excuse; you both knew it. “I’m sorry, Takami.” 

You winced as you said it. 

Saying sorry and taking responsibility were two different things.

“I didn’t think you’d want to meet up if I didn’t have a reason. Stupid, now that I think about it. I should have just asked.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve been a really, really shitty friend. I’ve been ignoring you—ignoring everyone, I guess. Ignoring your feelings.”

The last part came out too fast, eyes drifting back to the rusty patch of metal on the air conditioning unit. Takami deserved more than your fumbling apology though, so you exhaled steadily through your nose and gathered your thoughts before meeting his gaze again.

“I thought if I pretended not to notice everything would eventually go back to normal. You’d stop liking me like that and everything would be cool between us again. Fuck, that sounds so selfish and like, messed up … and when I realized that wasn’t going to happen, I just… I just panicked? I don’t know. That’s so stupid.

“I backed myself in a corner pretending not to notice, and then suddenly I couldn’t pretend? I couldn’t lie …You’re just like, really fucking important to me, Takka. You’re one of my best friends… and that’s all of what I feel for you, Takami. So I’m sorry for being a bad friend and a shitty person and not saying anything. And I’m sorry about the way I’ve been treating you—its disrespectful and horrible, and God , you deserved to hear all of this so fucking long ago. I was so afraid of ruining our friendship—look at all the good that did me. It’s just… everything is changing so goddamn fast, I just want—want ed —things to stay normal. It was selfish and cruel, I’m sorry. 

Takami pretended not to notice your warbly, teary tone. Just like you pretended not to notice the way he winced every time you referred to him as just a friend.

You swiped your open palm across your cheeks. It took all your resolve not to look away—to return to that stupid, rusty spot on the air conditioning unit.

“I could have said somethin’.” Takami laced his fingers around his neck, his head rolling with a long sigh. Despondent and a little sheepish, he said, “I knew. You uh, were a little obvious about it. About knowin’. You’re a really, really bad actress.” He snorted, one shoulder shrugging, and added, “Much better at takin’ pictures.” 

You laughed, fresh tears tickling their way down your cheeks. “Ah shit, a career in cinema was the backup plan to my backup plan.” 

“Maybe silent cinema.”

“Wooow!” you gasped, wiping your tears before curling a dramatic fist to your chest. “That hurts, Takka.”

Something cracked between the two of you, tension pouring back in.

“Yeah, well…”

“Shit. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

Your name was brusque on his lips. “Just stop apologizin’ for a second and take a breath, okay?” He rubbed his neck and sighed, “It’s not like there is a right and wrong person here… it’s just a really messed up situation. I’m not blamin’ you for anything.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Tch.” Temporary silence lapsed, seconds long and drawn out, before he nudged his shoe against yours twice. It was a barely-there movement, but you still wanted to crawl out of your skin. “Hey. What did I just say?”

“Uh,” you sniffled, eyes bouncing in confusion as you replayed the last minutes of your conversation. The hum and rattle of the aging air conditioner harmonized with your sputtering.

Taking pity on you, Takami sighed—a long, tired noise that undoubtedly rattled his bones—and  ran a hand through his hair. “I know you’re really tryin’ to get me to hate you or somethin’, but I coulda said somthin’, too… I uh, shit . I didn’t even realize I liked you until you started datin’ Kenzou.”

Unable to hold back your curious surprise, you sucked in a breath. Until Kenzou? You dated Ken for just over a month the previous fall… weeks after your backyard make out session with Takami. Dating was a generous term to use for your relationship, too. Most of your time together was spent in his bedroom—Kenzou took breaks from playing songs on his guitar to shove his tongue down your throat and his hands down your pants.

“After you broke up I ah… I-I realized just bein’ your friend was okay. Until it wasn’t. All that stuff you said about not wantin’ to…ruin our friendship, I get it. Okay? So just stop thinkin’ all that shit about bein’ a bad person or whatever.”

Takami wasn’t supposed to be comforting you after you spilled your guts and fessed up to your bad behavior, but there he was—fessing up, too. Taking ownership of something that was your fault. Tenderness wasn’t Takka’s selling point; he was brash, arrogantly opinionated at times, and a self-proclaimed asshole.

Maybe part of you wanted Takami to hate you as much as you hated yourself. He sat across from you open and vulnerable, the leg drawn up against his chest bouncing anxiously. It was the most human you’d ever seen him, you thought. It was overwhelming. Something doleful cracked in your chest, and you squeezed your balled fist at your size to keep it contained.

“There’s more.”

You didn’t even realize it was you who said the words until Takami turned his head a little, as trepidatious as he was interested. There was no way to take the words back, not when there was both a dare and a question roaring in his eyes.

He deserved to know. (Both as your friend and as the person whose heart you’d so carelessly considered the last few months.) No, he needed to know—needed to hear it from you and not someone else. For what it was worth, Takami was one of your closest friends; that meant you respected him enough to spit the words out.

“I have a date next week.”

And yeah, maybe you did want him to hate you more than you hated yourself. Punishing yourself wasn’t enough. You wanted Takami mad—vitriolic and sharp, doling out a harsh penance that eased some of the restlessness in your heart—not crestfallen and exposed, flayed open for your twisted satisfaction.

After what felt like forever, Takami’s head bobbed once with a curt acknowledgement, your words settling on his shoulders. The soles of his sneakers scraped against the roof as he stood. “I uh… I think I’m gonna go now.”

You scrambled to your knees, suddenly feeling panicked. “Takami, wait—”

“I’m leavin’,” he said tersely, certitude punctuating his words.

The tone made you cringe, but you tried one more time. “Takka—”

Your name sounded harsh on his tongue, loud and biting. It was the complete opposite of how he’d been speaking to you. Surprised, you leaned back until you rested on your heels and blinked up at him. His chest heaved with something you didn’t want to understand . You forced yourself to stare at him, anyway, guilt gnawing at your windpipe until it felt impossible to breathe. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, jaw tense and tight. Instead of saying something— saying anything —he bent a little, swiping his bag from the ground, and walked away. He didn’t want you to follow him, so you didn’t.

It started raining on your walk to the station. Distant thunder started as you picked up the scraps of the neglected connivence market meal on the rooftop, but the storm hit much sooner than you anticipated. In the short time it took you to fumble with the umbrella (if you weren’t so busy wallowing in your own misery you would’ve had some snarky comment queued up about how your mom was always right about these types of things), you were absolutely soaked. The rain was warm, adding to the uncomfortably muggy weather instead of providing any kind of relief.

For a moment, you considered dunking beneath a business awning to wait out the rain. Summer storms never lasted all that long. In spite of the poor weather, the streets were still busy as the evening wound down, and there were plenty of people already taking refuge beneath covered signs and cement archways.

You desperately wanted to be at home, though. Preferably cuddled in bed in comfy pajamas, a Miyazaki film on the hand-me-down flat screen in the corner of your room, and a big bag of ume chips. You avoided the widening puddles on your way to the station, jumping around them as you nearly ran the rest of the distance. You swiped your PASMO a few minutes before the next train was set to arrive—and since a businessman in a very nice looking suit was scowling at you, you took the time to dry yourself (i.e., ring out your hair and fan your damp clothes from your body) and double-check the zuiko lens was still safely tucked away in the bottom of your bag.

By the time you made it home, you were absolutely miserable. Sticky and sweaty, fine hairs slicked to your face and neck, while still damp and shivering from the rain. You could only air dry so much, and the wet coldness from your clothes steadily sank into your clammy skin on the last part of your journey home. Not entirely caring about the noise or mess you were about to make, you flung the door open fully intent on sloshing your way straight to the bathroom.

But your mom was still sitting on the couch… and maybe worse, your dad’s face—slightly laggy and in okay at best resolution—stretched across her laptop screen.  The computer was positioned on the side table facing the couch where your mom sat in her pajamas, bright eyed and smiling around a slice of pizza. When she turned to look at you—a tease about the umbrella no doubt on the tip of her tongue—her smile morphed, the corners of her lips wavering down as she examined you. She said your name affectionately, knowingly , and you winced. You didn’t have the mental energy to pretend to be okay, nor did you particularly want to talk about the situation with your mom, so you busied yourself with the act of taking off your water-clogged shoes.

Your dad’s voice had a slight echo to it when he called your name. The laptop screen was fairly small, but you could tell he was in some ultra-beige, ultra-American hotel room. Behind him, the sun was starting to peek through the partially opened curtains.

“Come say hi to your dad!” he exclaimed, obviously not picking up on the mood.

(How could he? He was thousands and thousands of kilometers away in some stupid, boring looking hotel in America while you and your mom were just… there in Tokyo, always there in Tokyo , waiting for him to come back.)

Your mom chirped his name, shifting to her knees so she could bring the computer closer. “If she doesn’t already have a cold, she’ll get one standing around chatting. You two have a lot of catching up to do, right?”

You felt nauseous. You loved your dad, but the absolute last thing you wanted to do was talk to him.

“The different time zones makes it hard,” he explained. Like you didn’t already know this . “It’s almost six in the morning here in Durham.”

You didn’t know where Durham was; the word sounded fragmented and foreign as you repeated it in your head.

“There are places here that serve fried chicken with waffles for breakfast.” He said your name with a fondness that made tears prickle the corner of your eyes. It reminded you of being younger, tiny hand enveloped in his much larger one. Of sitting on his shoulders at the street fair and being twirled beneath falling Sakura petals.  “You would love it here.”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek and cleared your throat, hoping it didn’t sound like you were on the verge of tears. “Send me pictures.”

“Ah, I’m not a talented photographer like you, musume,” he said, chuckling. “But I will make sure to take a few photos for you.”

Again, you felt a surge of tears.

“You should really dry off, sweetheart,” your mom instructed as she angled the laptop a little more towards her. “Why don’t you take a bath? I changed the water before mine earlier, so it’s all fresh and ready for you.”

You nodded, shoulders sagging with relief, and bowed a goodbye across the room at your dad before skittering down the hall to the bathroom. You undressed, clothes hitting the ground with a squelching thwack, and quickly showered—almost on auto-pilot. The bath water steamed when you peeled back the cover; you hissed as you toed the surface, temperature almost too hot to be relaxing. Almost . You grit your teeth and sank into the water, choosing to focus on the ripples of water and not the stream of silent tears that started the moment you were alone.

You could sort through your emotions later, you thought—self-effacing and dismissive. (Maybe much, much, much later. Maybe never.) You dunked your head beneath the water, holding your breath until white starbursts burst behind your eyelids. It was harder to tell if the wetness on your face was from the water or your own tears after that. Yeah, you’d deal with your baggage later. Things were always better after a bath, after all.

“Come on, Emiyo, stop messing around.” You glared at her reflection in the floor length mirror. She was too busy being a nosy menace to notice or care, sprawled out on her stomach on your bed as she thumbed through stacks of photo paper. You barely resisted stomping as you turned around, choosing instead to wave your arms dramatically at her while you pouted, “You’re supposed to help me get ready.”

For your date with Bokuto.

“Kind of hard to help when you’ve shot down every outfit I’ve picked out.”

“I’m not wearing long sleeves in August!”

“They’re bell sleeves— don’t make that face , there is totally a difference—and the shirt is so short it’s practically a crop top. August is one of the only months you can wear it.”

“Fine, fine. I’m not wearing it on a first date.” You snatched the shirt in question from the back of your desk chair and held it up to your body, nose wrinkling as you hummed, “Doesn’t it look too… I don’t know, desperate for a café date?”

Emiyo cackled, “I don’t know how to tell you this, but you are so far beyond desperate—”

“Hey!” you scowled at her reflection in the mirror.

“I’m teasing.” She bit her bottom lip, a giggle slipping through, then lifted two pinched fingers in the air. “Okay, I’m a litttttllle serious. But it’s like, kind of adorable. I can tell you really, really like this guy.”

A jolt of guilt forced you to look away. “Yeah.” 

The day after your rooftop conversation with Takami, you invited Emiyo over to come clean about your general shitty-ness. She showed up with an overnight bag slung over her shoulder and an almost comically large plastic bag from 7-11 stuffed with the finest junk food on the market. You were almost more nervous to talk to Emiyo than Takami. She was your best friend—your first real best friend—and one of the few people whose opinion you actually gave a shit about. Damaging your friendship with her was the last thing you wanted to do. You were a little clueless without her, to be honest.

You told her as much later in the night. You were both snuggled beneath the same blanket. Empty wrappers littered the ground by your bed, the menu screen flickered on the television, and your eyes were already puffy and red-rimmed from a long night of teary conversations. It was too late to have any rational, coherent thoughts. Which is maybe why Emiyo just laughed and squeezed you into a hug, muttering that you were a little clueless with her—without her you’d be a risk to society, and really she was just doing a public service—the most important kind, she iterated, poking your cheek—by being your friend for the rest of your lives.

“Stop making that face and come over here.”

Emiyo waved an impassive hand in the air as she shifted to her knees, her focus on the messy photo stacks on the bed.

“I’m not making any face,” you pouted, definitely still making a face as you crossed the room with your arms crossed. “This is just what I look like.”

“Yeah, right.” She rolled her eyes. “It’ll get stuck like that if you keep saying that, you know.”

You stuck your tongue out and said, “Good.”

“You say that now,” Emiyo clicked her teeth before letting out a little ‘ ah-ha! ’, thrusting one of the photos from the disposable camera in front of you.

Unlike most of the pictures on the bed, this one was in color, fluorescent gym lights giving it a too-yellow tint. Bokuto sat at your side, your shoulders touching and arms intertwined. It was hard to look away from the sight of Bokuto’s face so close to yours, both of your cheeks flush—both wearing goofy, too big smiles.

You had a feeling your face looked a lot like it did in the photo. Ruddy cheeks, big pupils, unfocused lovesick smile.

“You’re staring,” Emiyo laughed, bopping you on the nose. Before you could squeak out a protest, she added, “It’s cute. You’re cute. He’s cute .”

“Yeah,” you breathed.

“And an athlete, huh?” The teasing quality to her voice wavered when she bumped your shoulder and admitted, “You’ve never liked guys like that before. I thought your type was emotionally unavailable and artsy.”

“I don’t have a type! ” you scoffed.

Emiyo raised an eyebrow and started listing names. Ida. The first-year you passed at the school gates every morning who, in your defense, had a really cool hairstyle. Literally everyone in the Taiko Club… and everyone in Art Club. Your second-year class president (his pouty-scowl was absolutely devastating to the female population at your school). Your first boyfriend—the one who broke your heart, the one who led to that night with Takami. You cut her off before she finished articulating the syllables of his name.

“Fine. Maybe I have— had a type. But this is different. Bo is different. Good different. Like…he’s really intense, but in a way that makes me feel all fluttery and gaahhh inside. He doesn’t feel like, real, sometimes.”

Emiyo’s lips twitched. She said your name a little hesitantly. “If you keep thinking like that, you’re setting yourself up for disappointment. Bokuto is a real person. Actually, he’s a teenage boy so I don’t even know if he counts as a person yet. Fluttery and gaahhh is like, fucking amazing for you, but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to make mistakes.”

“I know, I know that. He’s always making mistakes—it’s one of the things I like about him, actually… he doesn’t try to be anyone but himself. Makes me feel like… like it’s okay to be myself, too.”

Emiyo scoffed incredulously, “Of course it’s okay to be yourself.”

“I know that, it’s just… hard sometimes.”

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled. It wasn’t exactly a lie: knowing you could talk to her and actually talking to her were two totally separate things.

“Like, I know you feel guilty about the whole Takami situation, but you’re my best friend—I know you, I know how you process things. Don’t you think I would’ve kept pushing if I realized you were ready to deal with it? You would have freaked if I crowded you… but maybe I should have.”

“Do you think Takka is ever going to forgive me?”

She clicked her teeth. “There’s nothing to forgive—”

“I’ve been rude and insensitive and like, generally the worst.”

“I say this with nothing but love but—,” she sighed your name, a teasing smile curling at the corners of her mouth, “you’re so stupidly dramatic sometimes. We’ve already talked about this, right? You don’t have to keep apologizing. It’s okay, I get it.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

“You aren’t going to make everyone happy all the time. It’s your life,” Emiyo said your name, “and at a certain point, you have to stop thinking about everyone else and think about you. You said you like Bokuto because he makes you feel like it’s okay to be yourself, right? So be yourself.”

You forced a smile and nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

“Was that a ‘Emiyo I am going to wear the cute crop top on my date’ kind of yeah okay?”

“I’m not wearing the crop top,” you laughed, smile much more genuine. Before she could protest, you leaned over and bumped her shoulder with yours. With a sing-song tone to your voice, you conceded, “Buuttttt, I promise not to complain about whatever it is you pick out.”

Emiyo pretended to think about it for a few long seconds (and she had the audacity to call you dramatic when she sat there, humming and tapping her chin) before her spine straightened and she exclaimed, “Deal!”

Nervously, you fiddled with the strap of your bag as you scanned the wave of people spilling onto the platform. The crowd was dense, bodies bumping together as they fanned out. Despite being a perpetually tardy person, you arrived at the station entrance a whole twenty minutes earlier than you’d agreed to meet with Bokuto. You could only pretend to be interested in your phone for so long (there was no way you played that new trendy mobile game for more than two minutes, tops…) before you took to people-watching— people waiting? — in the hopes you’d catch a familiar shock of two-toned hair.

He hadn’t been in the first wave of people pulsing from the entrance, and you really didn’t expect him to be early. Even though the volleyball team had a few days off from mandatory practice following the training camp, Bokuto’s personal routine included daily cardio and strength training. A mix of roadwork and weights. It’s just what the ace does , he’d said the night before—laughter crackling over the phone. You couldn’t help but think it was just what Bokuto did. He did that lot, assumed what was normal for him wasn’t extra-ordinary for somebody else.

So you really shouldn’t have been surprised to see him appear at mouth of the station nearly as early as you were, almost like you’d summoned him by sheer will. 

You noticed each other almost at the same time, a stuttering grin pulling at Bokuto’s lips while he waved his arms in big circles to greet you. It was the first time you’d seen him dressed in something other than a uniform or training clothes, you realized belatedly. 

You should’ve prepared yourself better for the sight of him in a collared short sleeve shirt the color of cornflowers, buttons undone at the neck, and a pair of khaki shorts that hit right above his knees. His hair was spiked, swaying with his movements as he practically danced through the crowd–twisting around oblivious salarymen, dodging the foam ball a kid threw on the ground in the middle of a tantrum, swerving to avoid a group of tourists in bucket hats who stopped in the most inconvenient place to take a group photo. 

And then he was in front of you. Close enough to touch, close enough to–

Bokuto’s eyes shined bright when he said your name, arms wrapping around you before you could register what was happening. You returned the hug on instinct, your hands sliding up his back in a way that felt so… intimate. If you hadn’t missed him so much, you would’ve been mortified at the little hum you let out at the feeling. He squeezed you hard–too hard–for half a second, like he was making sure you were really there, before his grip loosened, fingers hooking at your lower back to keep you rooted against his chest.

You took advantage of your face being pressed into his chest (you’d seen Bokuto in enough athletic wear to consider it a blessing, honestly) and breathed in his smell, all clean with the faintest scent of coconut. Absently, your fingers climbed until you felt the baby hairs at the base of his neck. 

It took you way too long to realize you were practically groping him in a very public place, but before your embarrassment could fully settle in the soles of your feet Bokuto squeezed you one more time and took a step backwards.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he grinned, gaze momentarily sliding to your lips. 

You pressed your nails into your palm to keep from kissing him. If you weren’t already getting the stink eye from a tutting older woman nearby you would have kissed him; you would lean up on your toes and kiss him the way you’d been dreaming about for days. A proper kiss, not a rushed peck goodbye or a stolen moment in front of your peers. A kiss that sat in your belly, warming you all the way to your toes. A kiss you’d think about alone at night. A kiss that said I know, I’m here, I feel it too.  

Instead, you met his smile with one of your own. “Hi.” 

A beat of silence stretched as the two of you stared at one another and then–

“You look–”

“I hope–”

Bokuto laughed as your voices overlapped, eyes crinkling at the corner. “Sorry, you first.”

“Oh, ah, I was just going to say I hope you had an okay trip in–this station is extra busy during the summer. I kinda avoid it at all costs, actually.”

It was always busy with professionals rushing from one place to another, to jobs you didn’t understand and cold office buildings that overwhelmed the part of you that desperately looked for telephone lines and open skies. During the summer months, though, school kids and groups of teens clogged the platform. Families on day trips filled the cracks and barely there crevases on the train. Tourists flooded the line, all paper maps and shopping bags. It was closest to the cafe, though.

“It wasn’t too bad. I don’t come to this part of the city often, so I tried to enjoy the ride.” He flashed a smile before cheekily adding, “Plus, I knew you would be waiting for me.”

“You knew , huh?” you teased, cheeks warm. The matching blush that rose-tinted Bokuto’s face gave you a headrush, a mix of heady confidence and adrenaline. Sure, you were easily riled up if Bokuto was involved, but there was something almost overwhelming knowing he felt the same way. “I guess now is a good time to tell you I’m like, criminally late to everything. I’ve been lectured by so many teachers about my tardiness, I swear I have their disappointed speeches memorized. It’s honestly a miracle I’m early today.”

Honestly a miracle , you said, as if you hadn’t begged Emiyo to show up bright and early to help you get ready. Yeah, you’d definitely be lost without her. 

“I guess I’m lucky, then,” Bokuto chuckled.

At that, you leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. It was a chaste kiss, all things considered, but you couldn’t wait a second longer. Especially when he looked at you with such a fond twinkle in his eyes. 

“And,” you admitted as you rocked your feet back, “I was excited to see you.”

“ Definitely lucky,” he said, fingers coming up to briefly touch his cheek. “I was excited to see you, too, Kuma-chan.” The corners of his lips curled up almost impishly, and his voice shifted an octave lower when he added, “You’re so pretty; you look so good in that dress.”

Emiyo tried one last time to get you to wear the cropped shirt with the flowy sleeves before pulling a black mini dress with buttons down the front and a plain white tee to go under it from your closet. It was a short dress, and you usually wore a pair of tights with the dress but Emiyo promised it was better without them. Instead, the two of you agreed on a ruffly white pair of ankle socks beneath your Keds. 

If the way Bokuto looked at you was any indication, she was right. 

The way his eyes moved over your body gave you goosebumps. A shiver inched down your spine, a tingle settling at the small of your back where Bokuto’s hand rested during your hug. Suddenly, you wanted to be anywhere but the busy street. You wanted his hands back on your waist, his mouth on yours. You wanted to feel calloused fingers on bare skin, the wet warmth of his tongue against your own. You wanted Bokuto more than you could remember ever wanting anything. 

You found your voice long enough to say, “Thank you, you look good, too.” You let yourself look at him the way he looked at you (borderline indecent) and teased, “I do kind of miss the knee pads.”

“My knee pads?” he questioned, head canting to the side. There was a heavy, dazed look in his eyes that made your stomach swoop when you met his gaze. 

“Yeah, they ah…they make your legs look really good. Like, wow, you know? I mean–” 

“Kuma-chan.” It was half a whine, half a laugh. Bokuto covered his red face with a hand. “ Hah .” 

“Sorry, sorry!” 

You really hadn’t meant to say the leg part out loud, but your mouth had a mind of its own, apparently. And it wasn’t like you were lying. Embarrassing as it was to admit, it was true. You had the photos from the training camp in your bag to prove just how much of your time was spent daydreaming about Bokuto (and his thighs).

“Don’t apologize, it’s just ah, a lot hearing you say that.” He reached for your hand, thumb brushing over your knuckles before he laced your fingers together. Voice fervid, Bokuto said your name. “I really like you.”

“I really like you, too.” 

The words didn’t seem to truly capture the way you felt about Koutarou, but then again… you weren’t sure if words ever could capture the lightning in a bottle that was your name on his tongue, his hand in yours, the future ebullient and so sure as it twinkled in the depths of his gemstone eyes. 

Someday, you would find the words. 

Someday, you would tell him.

Someday, you knew, Bokuto would still be by your side.

So you smiled up at him as you leaned up and pressed a kiss to his chapped lips, just long enough to feel the puff of his breath on your mouth, and squeezed his hand as your heels rocked back on the concrete. Someday , you promised. 

A promise not just to Bokuto but to yourself. Someday, you would figure things out. Someday, you would have words for all the emotions bubbling in your stomach. Someday didn’t have to be today, or tomorrow, or the next day. Growing up fucking terrified you. Ominous, like a black cloud looming in the skyline, the future never failed to send anxious shivers down your spine. It was hard not to spiral when you thought about life after graduation. And maybe… maybe it was okay to be freaked out. Maybe it was okay to not know. Maybe part of growing up was figuring it out as you went. 

For now, you were happy just to be with Bokuto. You kissed him again because you could, and this time when your feet touched the ground you felt less nervous than you had in days. 

“We should probably get going so we don’t miss our reservation at the cafe,” you said, chagrinned. As much as you wanted to stay on the street corner – prying eyes be damned, at this point – and kiss Bokuto until your lips were swollen and red, you would probably only last another thirty minutes (the thought of kissing Bokuto for thirty minutes made your whole body warm) before you got hangry. Maybe a little longer any other day, but you were so nervous for the date you skipped breakfast and the lack of sugar in your system was seriously a threat for anyone and everyone within a three block radius. 

Bokuto’s cheeks were flush, his eyes wet-rimmed and twinkling. “Can we kiss more there?” 

You snorted, and when you attempted to drop his hand in embarrassment so you could cover your mouth, Bokuto refused to let go. He squeezed harder, letting you wiggle your arms in a pitiful attempt to escape. Instead, you squawked your mortification as his playful laughter reverberated down through your joined fingers. 

Bokuto had a personal training regime and a body toned by years of athleticism. There was no chance you were winning your weird mid-air arm wrestling contest, so after an appropriate period of dramatic wailing, you huffed your defeat. Wordlessly, and with your hands still entwined, you started walking towards the cafe. 

The two of you made it half a block before Bokuto asked, “Are you mad?” 

The question took you by surprise. Sure, you were kinda embarrassed he got you all flustered on a city street corner, but his teasing had you far from mad. Maybe the theatrics were too much. You slowed your pace a beat, pulling your lip into your mouth when you looked over and saw the worried look on his face. A lack of confidence where there was just bright excitement. Yeah… the theatrics were definitely too much, at least without reassurance. A sick feeling settled in your stomach seeing Bokuto upset, knowing you were the cause. 

Once, he called you late. Whisper in the bathroom, voices thick with sleep late. Cuddled under your blanket you listened as he apologized for calling, for bothering you, but he couldn’t sleep because he was so upset with himself for something that happened at practice. He forgot, he said. He got in his own head, he said. Everybody hated him, he said. He got like this sometimes, he said, apologizing for what felt like the hundredth time. Your jaw was tight, clenched the entire time he spoke in a tiny, crackled voice, but you cleared your throat and told him it was okay, sometimes you got like that too. You told him he was good – he was the ace, after all. That nobody hated him, especially not his teammates. You whispered kind words over and over again, wishing you were there with him, wanting nothing more than to hug him until he felt okay again. 

This time, you were with him. 

You squeezed his hand and smiled at him as you assured, “I’m definitely not mad.”

“So… you’re not mad?” he asked, repeating the words slowly. His eyebrow was still quirked, but the rest of the tension on his face was gone.

“At you? No.” Because you couldn’t help yourself and because you could, you teased, “That we can’t kiss more at the cafe? Absolutely. Am I still going to try?”

You shrugged, a coy grin playing at your lips.  

It was only fair to fluster him back. (And he got flustered, all right; a ‘haah’ slipping through his freshly wetted lips before he chewed on the bottom one, face getting redder by the second.) Flirting with Bokuto was fun . He was good, so so good, and you wanted him to know. He wore his emotions, for better or worse, and watching him react to you … yeah, you wanted him to know you felt it, too. The warm heat down your spine. The itchiness in your palms. The restlessness thumping low in your stomach. It was all because of him, because he made you feel good and happy and loved. 

Someday, the two of you would be alone enough to kiss him the way you wanted.

Someday, the two of you would be alone enough to touch, to sink to the bed and let your hands explore.

Someday, the two of you would be alone and you would let him touch you the way you imagined when you were in bed, fingers between your thighs. 

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” you said belatedly, “I’m sorry. Sometimes I take things, uh, a little too far? No, yeah, I definitely take things too far sometimes.”

“I know. I mean, I know you weren’t trying to upset me.” He took a second before admitting, “I was so nervous for our date, I barely slept last night. And this morning, Akaashi spent two hours getting me to come out of the bathroom. You’re just so nice and cute and talented, I don’t want to… to mess anything up. And… and don’t apologize for being yourself. I like you.”

You pressed your free arm against your face and whined his name, smiling as you groaned, “S’not fair to say things like that.”

“You started it!”

Well, you couldn’t argue that point. You could, however, pout about it. 

“Like I wasn’t gonna kiss my boyfriend when he’s standing there–what?”

“Hey, hey, hey…,” Bokuto stopped suddenly, mouth opening and closing for a few wild, desperate seconds before he squeaked, “I’m your boyfriend?”

Oh. Oh . 

You kissed in the shadows of the gym at his training camp and confessed under a humming light post, but you never actually put words to your relationship. Bokuto hadn’t been lying when he said he couldn’t text much during the camp, and he only messaged you a few times in between its conclusion and your date. Small things, like confirming their reservation and a reminder to bring the stacks of photos they’d yet to look through together. Not big things–emotion things, relationship-defining things.

A flutter of panic stuck to your insides. You let yourself wallow in it for all of three seconds before reminding yourself it didn’t have to be a big thing. Someday, it could be a big thing. But today, it could just be the two of you, flustered and bright-eyed. 

“Ah… yes? I mean…,”As bravely as you could, you asked, “Koutarou, will you be my boyfriend?”

You’d always been on the other side of the confession, blushing as you nodded your acceptance. There was something about the thrill of asking, the words coming out easier than you thought they would. Easier when you got to watch Bokuto tilt his head back, groaning into the sky. You couldn’t see his face, but the tips of his ears were redder than you’d ever seen before. He muttered something you couldn’t quite decipher before looking at you, citrine eyes big and glossy. When he grinned, it was sure-fire, and an unshakeable confidence rounded his features. It was a look, you realized, you’d seen from the sidelines of the court. 

“Yeah,” he said your name and it sounded like liquid sugar, like the sweetest honey, “I will.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he mimicked, head bobbing, “Yeah, I’m going to be the best boyfriend there is, Kuma-chan.”

You giggled, not caring much about how silly or childish it sounded, and leaned into his side. Something you could only describe as content settled in your stomach, nestling between the butterflies. “Why doesn’t the best boyfriend there is tell me about the rest of camp? I want to hear all about it.”

Bike horns chirped, car tires squealed, and the summer breeze tickled the tops of trees into the slightest breeze. You and Bokuto walked slowly, hands locked, lost in each other more than the city. People streamed around you, families and tourists and businessmen and you were pretty sure a classmate waved at you. If you remembered (you wouldn’t), you’d apologize when the school year started again.

Bokuto told you about each match, a string of names woven into each story already bursting at the seams. You followed the best you could, nodding along as you laughed and gasped, piecing the games together behind your eyes. When he got to the last match Fukurodani played against Karasuno his voice slipped, and he recounted how much he was in his head as a result of the first year duo’s eccentric gameplay. The dejected tone stuttered away with a confident fist pump and a detailed play-by-play of the match, culminating in his scoring of the final point.

 He was telling you about the BBQ hosted for the teams–something about a meat war with Hinata–when you arrived at the cafe. Miraculously, you were on time for your reservation. You checked in and ordered (two espresso banana milkshakes, three orders of the specialty bear dango, and a ginger pork sandwich to share), both you and Bokuto ‘oohing’ and ‘aahhhing’ at the menu and trendy decor as you were seated in a cozy booth. 

Before you could even tuck your messenger bag next to you, Bokuto said your name excitedly. “You remembered to bring the pictures, right?”

“You want to look at them right now?” 

“Of course,” he whined, sliding into the seat. If there wasn’t a table between the two of you, you would’ve leaned over and kissed him. You gripped the fraying edge of your bag instead. “Everyone was talking about how cool the pictures were, I wanted to look so bad.”

“You didn't?” you asked, genuinely surprised.

“Okay, maybe I looked at some of them,” he admitted, “but I couldn’t help myself! It was torture, listening to people talk about how talented you are and how badass the pictures are and how cute–”

“Okay, okay,” you interrupted, face warming. “I get it. I don’t mind; I told you to look at them.” You were proud of the photos you shared. You wanted him to see them. Maybe, just maybe, you wanted him to be proud of you too. “Plus, I ah… I have extra ones. Of just us?”

Excitement jumped his features. “Really?”

You hummed, pulling two overstuffed photo envelopes out of your bag. Bokuto propped his elbows on the table, tucking his chin in the palms of his hands, and watched quietly as you pulled the glossy photos from their sleeves. 

You thumbed the first photo in the stack from the Nekoma camp, a too-dark shot of Lev bent at the knees with a fierce expression on his face. Despite being taken only a few weeks ago, it felt like a lifetime had passed since you first stepped into the gym. You’d learned so much about taking good sports photos since then. Learned so much about volleyball, in general. The Nekoma camp photos were good, but the Shinzen camp photos were… well, they were fucking amazing. 

You were proud of almost every photo you took (even the blurry, out of focus, ill lit, accidental shots), but looking at the camp proofs the first time, you got goosebumps. Some of the photos were okay. Others needed work – a better angle, different lighting. But mostly, the photos gave you a heady feeling of nostalgia and something… well, something incredible and indescribable. It felt like being there – on the court, not behind a camera. Squeaking shoes. Strong menthol. Rallying cries to push, to not mind. Memories that weren’t necessarily yours, just stolen through your viewfinder, pulsed beneath your fingertips. You were there . 

Bokuto looked carefully at each photo, much quieter than you anticipated. If it weren’t for the small smile creasing the corner of his lips you would have been worried he didn’t like them. You didn’t mean to stare… except, you kind of did. Watching him was quickly becoming your favorite pastime. Koutarou was becoming your favorite pastime. 

Every now and then he’d hum a little, looking up at you through his lashes to offer praising words that kept your cheeks stained red. He chuckled once, a low rumbling noise (you definitely didn’t squirm in your chair at the sound), flipping a photo of Hinata around to ask how you managed to make him look so tall. 

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” you teased, a little breathless still from the way his laugh felt on your skin. “Trade secret, and all.”

There was nothing gentle about Bokuto’s laugh this time; it was boisterous, bouncing to fill every corner in the cafe. Your name tangled in his guffaw. It had never sounded better. You could feel eyes on you, but you hardly cared. Not when Bokuto looked at you with crinkling eyes and a toothy smile. Especially not when his ankles hooked around yours under the table. A breath stuttered in your chest at the gesture. He was so… infuriatingly cute and you liked him so, so much. 

His grin grew, like he knew what you were thinking. 

“Would you feel bad about it, at least?”

“And people think I’m dramatic,” you pouted, bumping your legs together more as you leaned forward in your chair to lean an elbow against the table. 

Bokuto was your boyfriend, after all. You were allowed to touch him. He wanted you to touch him. A lot, if the blooming color on his cheeks was any indication. Bokuto leaned into the touch, his legs tightening around yours. You were so much closer like this: calves pressed together, his fine hairs tickling against your bare skin. When he moved his muscles flexed, and you felt that too. If you weren’t already so love drunk on him you would’ve at least pretended to be embarrassed at how flush the contact got you. Instead, you stretched a hand across the table and linked your pinkies together. 

Your legs were still tangled when a server came by with your order, balancing the tray on the edge of the photo covered table. Bokuto wasn’t all that far in the stack; apparently, it was hard to flip through photos while holding hands. Who knew? The photos were put to the side in favor of espresso banana milkshakes and dango so cute you almost felt bad for eating it. 

Bokuto held one up, your name a syrupy laugh on his tongue, and said, “It looks just like you!” 

“Bo-kun,” you scoffed; the delivery was a lot less annoyed sounding when it was mixed with a giggle. “So mean.” 

“What are you talking about? It’s so cute!” He leaned across the table, wiggling it closer to your face. “Look! This one even has a little grumpy face. It really does look just like you.” Before you could make another indignant noise, he grinned and said, “My Kuma-chan.” 

My Kuma-chan. 

It felt different than a cutesy little pet name or even your given name. Your body prickled, flashing hot all over, and you chewed on the inside of your cheek. You repeated it in your head over and over again – my Kuma-chan, my Kuma-chan, my Kuma-chan – feeling more agog with each chant. There was something about the gentle possessiveness, the way he claimed you as his so easily, that kept your heart beating a steady rhythm in your chest. 

It made you feel fluttery and warm and so goddamn alive you couldn’t help yourself – you wanted to kiss him, right there in the un-privacy of your booth in the corner of the cafe. 

So you did.

It was quick and chaste, his chapped lips warm against yours, but your toes still curled in your shoes. It was, perhaps, the best kiss of your life. (It was, at the very least, right up there with the kiss you shared under the flickering campus lights when he walked you to Reo’s car.) Bokuto chased your lips when you pulled away, looking a little mystified as he muttered your name.

You offered him a smile… and bit the ear off one of the bear dango still dangling in his hand. 

The dazed look on Bokuto’s face shifted to surprise and then disbelief before settling on amusement. “Wow. My girlfriend is a cannibal.”

“That sounds like it could be a manga,” you snorted as you sat back down.

“It kind of does,” he agreed before biting the other ear of the dango, humming his approval. “Oh wow, this is good!”

“Who's the cannibal now?” 

“Hey, hey, hey! You were a cannibal before me, so it’s only fair.”

“That doesn’t make, like, any sense.” You were feeling a little reckless and way too emboldened from just his presence. Wanting to see how far you could push your luck, you hooked your legs together again and teased, “C’mon, Bo, just say you wanted to taste me.” 

It was supposed to be a playful, flirty comment. You weren’t prepared for how suggestive the words sounded rolling from your tongue. The words were heavy as they swirled between the two of you. Even from across the table, you could hear a breath stutter in Bokuto’s throat. It wobbled on the exhale, a soft little puff that kept the corners of his mouth curled. You wanted to kiss him again. Tuck your hands in the back of his pants to keep him close to you. 

Glossy yellow eyes turned towards your lips. You were biting on your bottom lip so hard you swore you tasted blood–you let up under his gaze, wetting the spot until it felt tender. 

“Yeah, okay.” Bokuto’s head bobbed once; you tried in vain not to watch the movement of his neck as he slowly swallowed. You wanted to trace the motion with your lips. He shrugged a shoulder and grinned, tone unapologetic when he said, “I want to taste you, Kuma-chan. You got me.” Your body somehow got warmer. You didn’t think it was possible. “But I don’t want to get kicked out of this cafe. Besides–we still have some pictures to look through.”

You lost track of time somewhere between Bokuto crying actual tears as he tasted the milkshake and him demanding you get your camera out of your bag to take a commemorative photo of the two of you on your first date. (He stumbled over the word but wore a smirk so proud you couldn’t help but smile into your shoulder. And when you propped your camera on the edge of an empty booth behind you, self-timer set, Bokuto rewarded you with a kiss on the cheek as the photo snapped.) Being with Bokuto made you feel kind of weightless. And it was hard to care about much of anything, time included, when he smiled at you. 

Bo provided commentary as he flipped through the photos. Clicking his teeth at ones snapped during matches Furkurodani lost. Beaming brightly at those where he or his friends looked particularly cool. Pressing his mouth into his palm shyly as he looked through the photos from Gym 3, his segmented limbs and your flushed, moony faces pressed close under the fluorescent lights. He asked to keep the one of your fingers intertwined, hands resting on the spot where his knee-pad clad leg bumped against your jean shorts. When you told him you had the negatives and could print more copies for yourself, he thumbed through the stack and pulled out two more photos–both of the two of you molded to each other’s side. 

Neither of you were particularly eager to leave, but the host was giving you the type of stink eye reserved for guests who way overstayed their welcomes. As you packed your bag, you realized the cafe was a lot busier than you remembered it being when you arrived. Oops. At this point you didn’t really care if half of Tokyo saw you being disgustingly lovesick with Bokuto in the middle of a cafe. You did, however, feel bad about annoying the staff. You forced your way through a few red faced ‘thank you’s’ on the way out of the building. With a confidence he didn’t have at the beginning of your date, Bokuto reached for your hand as the two of you emerged onto the sidewalk. 

After a few silent steps he admitted, “I don’t want this date to be over yet.”

You didn’t either. 

“There’s a halfway decent arcade nearby,” you said entirely too quickly, “that has a few DDR machines.”

“DDR?” His eyebrows hopped with surprise, at first, then excitement. You’d told him about the hours you and your friends spent playing the dancing game. For as clumsy and uncoordinated as you tended to be in most aspects of life, you were pretty fucking good at arcade games. Even rhythm games … no, especially rhythm games. Not even Itagaki could beat your DDR high score, and he was stupidly good at video games. (Something you never failed to mention when the opportunity presented itself.) Ever since he heard you were the best in your friend group, he wanted to play against you. There was a challenging glint in his eyes that defied the hesitancy in his voice. “Really? Are you sure?” 

You bumped your shoulder into his arm and teased, “Duh. What, scared you’re gonna lose?” 

“No, not really. It’s just… you’re wearing a dress.”

You rolled your eyes. “I can still kick your ass in a dress.”

“You’re going to try, yeah,” he rebuffed casually. Almost too casually, like he already had the win secured. You were going to really, really enjoy absolutely demolishing him in points. The hand that wasn’t holding yours waved in the air in a rambling motion, like he was trying to find the right way to phrase whatever was ailing him. “Aren’t you worried about um… well, it’s kind of a short dress?” 

“You’re about to lose spectacularly and you’re worried about my modesty ?” you scoffed, both legitimately annoyed and touched. 

“Hey, hey, hey–”

Because you could be as surefire and confident as Bokuto (and because you felt a little reckless, body still embarrassingly warm and tingly from his hand in yours) you squeezed his palm and taunted impishly, “When you lose–and you will lose–you better not blame it on being distracted because you saw my panties.” 

Bo sputtered your name, only a little petulant when he said, “So not fair, but I’m the ace for a reason. It’ll take a little more than that to break my game, Kuma-chan.”

“Is that a challenge?” 

The flustered noise he made in response was quickly becoming your favorite sound. 

It was dethroned quickly. A few matches of DDR quickly. After every spectacular loss, Bokuto made a little whining noise of disbelief. And then after a few seconds of pouting he would laugh and toss his arms around you as he showered you with praise. That was your new favorite sound. 

Where he lacked in rhythm game skills, Bokuto excelled at basically everything else at the arcade. He took the lead, lacing your fingers together and pulling you between whatever machines got his attention. He got such a big lead in Mario Kart you refused to play a second game. To make it up to you (as if you hadn’t rubbed in your multiple victories at DDR and Taiko), he won a prize at four crane games in a row, gifting each trinket with a pleased smile. Seeing a cute alien keychain bounce against the rest of the charms on your bag made your stomach flip. 

Bokuto had worked his way into so many parts of your life already. The realization was as anxiety-inducing as it was thrilling. It was easy to think about everything that could go wrong, filling gaps with self-doubt. But it was just as easy to look forward and brace yourself for life and whatever it brought to you. 

You thought about Bokuto, butterflies and fist-pumps. You thought about the way Emiyo lovingly rolled her eyes everytime you said something she thought was stupid. You thought about the way Ita always shared his bento with you, and how Takami believed in you even when you didn’t believe in yourself. You thought about your brother’s drunken confession last New Year’s, he wanted to marry Reo–as soon as he finished university, he was going to propose. You thought about Reo–gentle hands developing your film, soft eyes listening to you spill your guts on a park bench, giggling into your brother’s shoulder during his drunk holiday confession. You thought of your mom leaving notes for you throughout the house, little smiley faces and hearts dotting everything, and the way your dad would text you a photo of food when he missed you. 

For the first time in a long time–maybe what felt like your whole life–you were excited about the future. Sure, it was still terrifying to think about things like figuring out what to do after graduation or if your friends were going to drift apart in a few month’s time or any other seemingly terrifying adult problem that kept you up at night. But you weren’t alone. You’d never been alone. 

Your relationship with time was a funny one: selfishly, you stole slivers through a viewfinder. Shuddering moment after moment in a desperate attempt to stop, pause, let-you-catch-your-breath, remember, dream. Sometimes you felt like your thievery would come back to haunt you, like time would come for its penance. You still felt the compulsion to rest your finger on the shudder, greedy for whatever scraps of the universe you could stamp on film. Instead of feeling like there wasn’t enough time, though, you were starting to get the feeling that there would never be enough time–

“Hey, hey, Kuma-chan.” Bokuto wrapped his fingers around your wrist, thumb pressing to your pulse point. His face was scrunched in concentration or concern. Maybe a mixture of the two. “Are you okay? Is your sugar dropping or something? I think we passed a crepe stand on the way here. No, we definitely did because I really wanted to stop but you were bragging about your high score–” you scoffed, he smirked but continued otherwise unbothered, “–and you were so cute, I didn’t wanna interrupt you. If this is a sugar emergency, we have options.”

You did have options. 

The best choice obviously being pushing Bokuto against a broken down machine in one of the many desolate retro game aisles and kissing him until your lips were swollen and someone was clearing their throat loudly, asking the two of you to leave the arcade. You laughed all the way to the crepe stand around the corner. 

There were only two trains running in Fukurodani’s direction by the time Bokuto managed to pull up the schedule on his phone. He missed the first one because halfway to the station he decided to go back to the crepe stand and buy something for Akaashi. Tasked with getting it back to campus (and not eating it along the way, despite buying an extra for himself for the trip) gave Bokuto a reason to stay on track on the way to the station. He only stopped to kiss you twice, and you were only briefly distracted by a fluffy black cat perched on a set of stairs as you passed. There was an announcement running when you got to the station, a five minute warning, but the train was still there so it was a win in your book. 

Bokuto’s eyes flitted between the gate and you, his teeth holding his bottom lip. “I should probably go.”

“Probably.”

Instead of stepping towards the train, he took a step towards you. Even though he’d spent the better part of the afternoon kissing you, his hands still shook a little as he cupped your chin and tilted your head towards his. It was the tenderset kiss you’d gotten all day, soft and yearning. It was a kiss that said “I miss you already” . At least, that’s what you hoped your kiss said back. From the starry eyed look Bokuto was giving you, you were pretty sure he understood. 

“Let me know when you get home.”

“You too. And if Akaashi-san likes his crepe.”

“Okay. Don’t forget to ask your mom about going to the sanctuary next week.”

The bird sanctuary in Karuizawa–the one with the trails and the bird baths. The team didn’t have practice on Thursdays during the summer, and he wanted to go on another date. The birds were chattery this time of year, apparently, and Bokuto wanted to take you to the sanctuary. “ The weather will be nice for the trails, too,” he pitched–as if you’d need to be convinced to go anywhere or do anything if he was involved, “And I’ll bring lots of snacks, I promise.”  

“I will.” 

“And make sure you send me a picture of Totoro in his new home.” 

Your hand instinctively went to your bag, palming over the lump where the plushie Totoro crane prize was tucked away, then leaned up and pressed a kiss to Bokuto’s cheek. “I will, but Bokkun, you really should go. I don’t want you to miss the train when we’re standing right here.”

“Yeah,” he huffed. “You’re right. Okay, okay.” Your name rolled off his lips like honey. “I like you so much. Today was… today was awesome. Let’s have more days like today.” 

Let’s have more days like today.

You didn’t know what to say, so you nodded and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. If you weren’t interrupted by a departure announcement, you could have kissed him all night. Bokuto grinned, stumbling over his feet as he ran backwards so he could yell his goodbye to you. 

Before the train could really start moving, you reached into your bag and pulled out your camera. It was second nature, powering it on and setting the shot. Your finger slotted against the metal trigger, and you looked at the station through the viewfinder. The setting sun filtered through arches and buildings, shadows stacking like abstract blocks on the near empty platform. It was dark enough that you could see inside the lit train, all the empty padded seats… and Koutarou, waving at you through the glass.

Your finger pressed the release, and you waved back.

[bookskeepers]

the neuroscience of falling in love ☆ chapter seven

content warnings: kuroo is FILTHY (i'm trying to redeem him), mentions of pregnancy, more drama, this chapter was so self insert because love rosie is my favorite movie, yamaguchi is yamaguchi. chaotic, portuguese, hinata is hinata

a/n: sorry it took so long chat. life has been lifing (i bought a new laptop)

ignore timestamps and ignore how all the timestamps are 8-9am and it's 5:15pm please

taglist: @wakashudou, @theycallmenanamisgirl, @giocriedpower, @punkhazardlaw, @miliondollagirl

previous ☆ masterlist ☆ next

☆彡･:*:･★彡･:*:･☆彡･:*:･★彡･:*:･☆彡･:*:･★彡･:*:･☆彡･::･★彡･::･☆

translations:

nature e curo: nature is healing

parabens: congratulations

a vida e boa de novo: life is beautiful again

quel movie: which movie

que: what

☆彡･:*:･★彡･:*:･☆彡･:*:･★彡･:*:･☆彡･:*:･★彡･:*:･☆彡･::･★彡･::･☆

information:

y/n has decided that life is too short to hold grudges (also it's been 3 weeks since she spoke to kuroo (don't think too hard about the timeline please))

yamaguchi is plotting. after all, he thinks love, rosie is so niche that only two soulmates would hold it as their #1 favorite movie of all time

the kiyoko tweet will make sense when you see the bonus

☆彡･:*:･★彡･:*:･☆彡･:*:･★彡･:*:･☆彡･:*:･★彡･:*:･☆彡･::･★彡･::･☆

bonus !

[80ssatori]

Bokuto as Husband.

Headcanon gn!reader x Timeskip!Bokuto Kotarou

Warning: None(?), step-dad Akaashi (is like a second dad?)

English is not my first language sorry.

—Before having a partner and children, he always put volleyball as his priority.

—In the beginning he forgot that he had a partner and children so he just took light vacations only after games in other cities.

— But he would always bring home memories in form of an apology.

—Sweetheart, it's not your fault you're not used to have a family.

—Your constant anger at leaving your children aside was what made Bokuto put his feet back on the ground.

— "I'm sorry for not to be with them, but you must understand that I'm not used to it yet"

—But he would always be forgiven.

—"Kotarō, what are you doing here?"

— "I want to take you with me to the game, to take you on a little vacation"

—“but the kids are still in class"

— "It doesn't matter, we'll have vacations anyway"

—The truth is that having three children was difficult for just one person.

—So the children would get along pretty well with Adriah.

—Bokuto seriously thought about leaving Adriah in charge of the children so he could have a date with you.

—But we all know that Adriah would be like the fourth child.

— In the end the children were cared for by Meian who welcomed them.

—But he was tired in less than an hour.

—Your children were just as hyperactive as their father.

—Bokuto would apologize to you many times for leaving you alone with the children.

—Promising that this time he would be a father present and concerned for his children.

—And that word would be true.

—Although he sometimes can’t go to his children's presentations because of important practices or games.

—He send Akaashi.

—"Akaashi..."

—"Bokuto-san, I have to check the corrections of a manga I can't go"

— "Akaashi please🥺🙏🏼"

—Akaashi would still go see the children.

—After all, he was like a second father.

—And he knew how to treat them.

—Akaashi would tell Bokuto everything.

—And Bokuto would call his children excited by his introductions saying how proud he was.

—Every day, he would make calls with his children to wish them good night.

—And if he's home, he'd always keep them warm when they sleep.

—He end up sleeping with them.

—You'd just watch from the door to let him rest.

—He was playing a good role as dad after all.

[genesisrose74]

MSBY Celeb Crush HCs!

A/n: hello lovelies!! Did y’all see the live game streamed a couple days ago with MSBY against the Adlers? Can we all agree that MSBY’s #15 was gorgeous? Okay cool anyways I was in the mood for some Black Jackals content so here’s some headcanons of them with a fem! celebrity crush/eventual gf!! Also I’m working on some more Dream SMP stuff because y’all liked it a lot and it was super fun to write so yeah :)) Hope you like this one!

Hinata

Hinata would be very adamant about his celebrity crush let's be honest here

Ever since he learned about your singing group and your albums he was completely hooked

He’s seen all your interviews, has your group’s merch, etc. this man is devoted

Atsumu asked if he had any other celebrity crushes and sweet orange baby was appalled

“No offense, ‘Tsumu, but that’s the most ridiculous question I’ve ever heard. Of course I don’t, have you seen y/n?”

If he wasn’t traveling so much you bet your ass he would have gone to one of your concerts already, but alas 😔

He doesn’t post about you or your group a bunch on social media just because he’s focused on training and games and such, but when he does?

Ohhh boy

He gushes about your entire group, but he puts so much of an emphasis on you that it’s obvious you’re his favorite

“I’ve been listening to their new album on repeat for hours - sooooo glad y/n had so many solos this time around cause her voice is ✨immaculate✨!!!!”

You get tagged in a lot of stuff on social media so it never really comes across your radar, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love watching volleyball and just adore everything about this man

If you knew he had social media you would have followed him in a heartbeat

Everytime you see him getting talked about or interviewed on television you’re just completely enraptured

One time another member of your group tried changing the channel when you were watching him in a post-game press conference and you DEADASS FOUGHT FOR THE REMOTE

“Jesus, y/n, you’re straight up feral for this volleyball guy” “He’s amazing and super pretty, let me simp in peace”

At one point your group gets an official TikTok account because why the hell not (and it’s great for publicity)

Questions usually come from your fans in the comments, but then it gets to your turn and being the hoes they are, your group conspires to ask one of their own

Your lead guitarist walks up to you sitting on the couch with her phone in hand, and pans to you watching a recorded MSBY game on the TV “Hey, one of your questions is about a celebrity crush, would you mind telling everyone yours?”

You smile excitedly, exclaiming, “Shoyo Hinata, duh. I love him and he’s my dream guy, thank you very much” NO HESITATION

Your whole publicity team loves the video and it gets posted immediately despite how flustered you’ve become

Hinata gets to the locker room after practice that same day and his phone is exploding with people tagging him on all different platforms

Tangerine bby is so confused, so he presses on one of the more recent posts and it’s a video of you watching the game with just “👀” as the caption

He’s already really happy ‘cause ‘holy flapjacks that’s my team!!!’ 🥺

Hinata registers a question about a celebrity crush from behind the camera, and before he knows it, his name is on your lips

THIS BOY YELPS AND NEARLY FLINGS HIS PHONE

Scares the entire team with his reaction and Atsumu is clutching his chest

“You almost gave me a heart attack, what happened?” “Y/N SAYS I’M HER DREAM GUY, I CAN DIE HAPPY”

He posts a video immediately and tags you back, and he’s got the biggest smile on his face ohmygoshhhhh “I swear on my life that you are my dream girl, I will seriously DM you my number if you want”

The internet f l i p s. I kid you not.

And you’re also freaking out because he has social media and you didn’t know? And also HE WANTS TO GIVE YOU HIS NUMBER?? So you just reply with “yes pls :3” skdjfdksop

You have your phone on hand the entire day and when you finally get a DM from his account you’re scrambling to respond/ft him asap

He sends you tickets for the next MSBY game you can make it to, and you coordinate VIP tickets for his team to come and see your group perform on tour

When y’all meet in person for the first time it’s at a little coffee shop a few days before the game you came to watch

And oh my gosh he’s even cuter in person? How is that humanly possible??

Y’all talk about anything and everything, whether that be pertaining to your careers or about your favorite dog breed

And then at the end of the day he hits you with a blushy and curious, “So, could I consider this a first date?”

You almost cry of happiness because he’s so precious, and all you can do is nod excitedly - “I would really, really like it if you did”

Being the cheeky cutie pies you both are, a picture is posted to your Instagram of y’all hugging with the caption, “met dream guy today”

That photo becomes your most liked post in a span of two days

The internet loves you both so much it’s insane

Bokuto

Similar to Hinata, Bokuto is very open about his love for his celeb crush

Flaunts his adoration for you everywhere and to everyone he’s friends with, but Bokuto’s like a boisterous little puppy so everyone is more or less used to it

He’s the type of guy to fall for an actress, especially like the awesome badass roles, so when he finds out about you while watching a movie one evening he legit binges everything you appear in right after

You don’t even gotta be the main character he’ll watch it just for you, doesn’t matter the genre

He’s quite active on social media and he’s like a proud boyfriend whenever he sees something about new content that you’re involved in

“Y/n looks so badass in this promo, already super excited to watch!!!”

Will repost legit anything about new stuff that you’re in it’s practically half of his feed

The other half consisting of volleyball and his friends 🥰❤️

Anywho, he gets a chance to see a movie premiere when Kuroo’s rich ass invites him along (cuz Kenma said no LMAO)

Heart❤️been broke💔🤕 so many times⏰ i don’t know❌🤷‍♀️ what to believe 🍃🙏

Doesn’t realize that you’ll be there until he sees you’re in the movie poster plastered on the red carpet

And then he looks to his left and you’re actually right there in person

He’s this close to swooning because omfg you’re so pretty-

Kuroo is standing off to the side like ‘bruh, want me to introduce you’ and Bo is bouncing on his heels like ‘YES OMG YOU KNOW HER PERSONALLY??’

You know nearly nothing about volleyball but that doesn’t even matter when Kuroo introduces you both

He’s just so genuine that you can’t help but smile and laugh at all the little things he does

You would take an Ushijima-spiked volleyball to the face for him and it’s only been ten minutes since y’all met

Like who is Ushijima and why is his left hand so spooky but anyways

He doesn’t wanna bother you too much and starts on his way to his seat in the theater, but before that you ask him if he’s going to the afterparty and if you’ll see him there

Owl child is pumped and begs Kuroo to let him tag along after the premiere

Kuroo eventually gives in because Bokuto won’t stop asking/pouting

Bokuto, for the eight millionth time: Please Kuroo lemme go :///

Kuroo: Jesus fine would you stop talking now

Bokuto: :D yee

Cute little whiny bitch lmao but he gets what he wants

So after the movie (which Bokuto loved btw) he goes to the after party and y’all talk the entire time

Like you’ll obviously stop and thank people for their kind words about the film, but then all attention goes right back to him

He’s over the moon cause you’re so nice and fun to be around, even better than he thought you would be

It’s getting a bit later into the night when you look over at him with a mischievous grin and lean over: “Wanna leave and go get some hot chocolate? Kinda tired of people buying me so much alcohol”

He is SO EXCITED - grabs your hand and y’all walk out of the after party without a second thought, but not before Bokuto tells Kuroo where he’ll be

“Hey Kuroo ima go get some hot chocolate with y/n, not sure when I’ll be back so I’ll text you” “okay have f-BOKUTO WHAT”

You sneaky little secret agents go out the back way to avoid paparazzi and order hot chocolates at this nearby cafe

Homies because you both got whipped cream on your drinks 😌👊

Y’all just have fun and joke around the rest of the night and end up exchanging contacts

You laughed so hard at one point that your hand jolted the mug you were holding and whipped cream got on your nose, so Bo just reached over and swiped it off without thinking

You blushed red when he licked the whipped cream off his thumb

This man knows not what he does

Little did you know some of the press saw you both straight vibing in your cute little booth and took pictures

Congrats you’re in the tabloids 🥳🥳 have fun with that

But honestly you don’t care because the pictures they took were so cute?

You legit contact the photographer and ask him to send you copies just cause

Needless to say you both start hanging out a whole lot, and it quickly turns into the most adorable dates; y’all are always seen out together and are super open about your relationship ugh we stan

Atsumu

Okay hear me out please: Atsumu is a closeted Broadway nerd

Tell me honestly that this overdramatic bitch would not love everything to do with musicals you can’t

You wouldn’t know at all until you've walked into his room and it’s just covered wall to wall in playbills

He has a warm up playlist devoted to cast recordings and literally no one knows about it because he named it some stupidly vague thing like “Bops”

Anyways you’re his all time favorite performer and he’s seen quite a few of your shows whenever he has the time

Tsumu gets really happy when he sees on your social media that you’re visiting Japan but doesn’t think anything of it

Until he’s finished playing a game at Sendai Stadium, standing with the team to sign autographs and there you are in front of him

He knew you enjoyed sports but...you came to watch his team?

Like boy half of MSBY is on the Japan National Team are you really that surprised-

The answer is YES because he’s having trouble speaking coherently as he signs the shirt you’re holding out to him

Holy shit it’s his jersey number he’s about to pass out-

Legit looks up and goes “could you give me one second?” and SPEEDS OFF TO FIND HIS BAG

You’re blinking in confusion but don’t think much else of it when Hinata bounces over to sign your stuff with his lil’ sunshine smile

Atsumu races back with his stuff, effectively startling Hinata in the process

He suddenly gets all shy when he pulls a perfectly preserved playbill out of his bag and shows it to you

“It’s my good luck charm. Do you mind signing it for me?”

Your eyes are starry because wow he took good care of that playbill and he also knows who you are??

Nervously gives you the pen he was using to sign stuff and you happily autograph the cover for him

“I didn’t realize Atsumu Miya was a fan,” you laugh. “I could say the same about you,” he grins back and holy crap if that’s not the most attractive thing-

You pull a very forward move and flip open to the cast list, writing your phone number under your headshot, and Tsumu is floored when you wink at him

“Hopefully that’ll bring you and me both some luck”

HE IS DOWN FOR THE COUNT; He’s supposed to be the flirty one on the team so everyone is laughing their asses off at his awestruck gaping

Anyways after the day ends and Sakusa has finally finished making fun of Atsumu for being a closeted musical theater stan, he texts you and asks to meet up the next day to which you eagerly respond yes

Y’all spend the rest of your trip going sightseeing together and Atsumu shows you little hidden gems around the area

Sometimes Osamu tags along to your absolute delight, because he’s hilarious and knows where all the best food spots are

Even after you leave Japan you both continue talking back and forth and coordinate times to meet whenever you’re in the same place

You’re ecstatic to know that Tsumu is very well versed when it comes to his shows, however it doesn’t particularly translate into his singing skills lmao sorry babe

But that doesn’t matter to him because at least he can rap Guns and Ships

Starting the relationship is a bit difficult just because you’re both such a long distance from each other, but each of you decide that it’s worth it since you get along so perfectly

There are so many surprise visits and every time he sees a show he sends a massive bouquet of flowers to your dressing room

You’re always spotted out and about in your Black Jackals hoodie because it’s incredibly warm and it also reminds you of him

He’s just so soft for you and supports you no matter what

Sakusa

No one would ever know about Sakusa’s celebrity crush, like ever

Because he’s Sakusa and if you go near his things in the first place you’re guaranteed to be hit with the disinfectant spray bottle

Not to mention the fact that he doesn’t display any of his merch at all

I feel like Sakusa would have more interest in an athlete, cause he knows that you’d take serious care of your health and that you also share his love of competition at a high caliber

Highkey think he’d fall for a figure skater

He admires the elegance and the grueling amount of physical discipline it takes to put on a solid performance

Also the outfits get the Sakusa Sparkle of Approval™

They’re just so pretty and well taken care of

The team knows about his infatuation with the sport more or less; he’s not afraid to watch competitions in front of them

If anyone on MSBY looked hard enough, they could probably figure out his exceptional interest in your performances in particular

But they’re dumbasses so it never really catches on

He for sure went to the Japan Figure Skating Championships to see who would qualify

He got one of those really nice seats up close to the rink because why not

Maybe bought something for you to not-so-subtly and awkwardly toss on the rink after your last performance

He hopes y’all spray those gifts down with a firehose because sweaty bodies be falling all over that ice; disgusting

Anyways it was a panda bear 🥰

You LOVE pandas (wow what a coincidence) and you catch a glimpse of this cute as hell dude tossing one on the rink for you

Who is this man and why is he so pretty??

Anyways you’re watching the rest of the competition from the waiting room with some other contenders

The commentators start to pan in on this top volleyball player guy who came to watch or something and hoLY ShiT-

It’s PANDA MAN

Up close you can see just how pretty he actually is and it’s mind boggling

But despite the fact that he now lives rent free in your head you let it go cause what’re the chances

Pretty damn high, apparently, because guess who you find trying to desperately avoid the crowd leaving the stadium

“Hey, you threw me a panda plush earlier, right? You’re the one they said was on the Japan National Volleyball team!”

Sakusa is kinda shocked you recalled that information from the brief moment that they focused in on him (yes he noticed the cameras but didn’t say anything and just sat there awkwardly)

“I’m surprised you remembered me”

“Well of course I did! A cute guy from the National Team gave me a panda bear!”

You realize that you said he was cute way too late, but the warm crinkle of his eyes tells you that there’s a bit of a smile behind that mask of his now

Sir how cute can you possibly be I am ✨💍 proposing 💍✨

And so starts a wonderful conversation as you both wait for the crowds outside to dissipate

You’re the one to eventually ask for his number because gosh darn it he’s perfect and you’ve already admitted he’s cute so just shoot the shot

Sakusa’s expression stays relatively stoic but on the inside he’s kinda freaking out

But in a good way 😌💖 so he tells you his number and you put it in your phone and vice versa

His contact name is “Cute Volleyboy 🐼” at which Sakusa actually chuckles when you show him

It takes a little bit of conversation back and forth after your first meeting but eventually you’re both confident that you really like each other

Dates where you teach Sakusa how to skate!!! He’s pretty graceful so they’re actually quite enjoyable

You don’t know much about volleyball but Sakusa fills you in a lot, and you get super interested in the sport

Soon after you start dating you surprise him at one of his home games with the Black Jackals

There's no way in hell that Sakusa told his team about you, although everyone noted he was in a great mood as of late

So when you show up on the sidelines after the match and hand their germaphobe of a wing spiker a stuffed panda - which he ACCEPTS - they’re flipping out

Even more so when you kiss him on the cheek because whAT-

Sakusa knew this would happen but finds himself no longer giving a shit since you totally love his team anyways

But if Atsumu ever gets too close to you he won’t hesitate to throw that two-tone haired hoe away

[thevesuvianchronicles]

Eyes of The Beholder

did someone ask for Bokuto content bc i did

Bokuto knew he wasn’t the smartest boy at Fukurodani. Nor the most popular boy in his class, though he came close. But he always tried, despite his loud façade, he was still a boy. 18 years old and making a decision that would effect the rest of his life. Of course that was no problem for the dual haired boy, his love for volleyball made that decision easy. But love wasn’t enough, couldn’t be enough for such a competitive sport. So, even with his lacking traits in most things academic, (though it should be noted that he never failed, Akaashi made sure of that) he studied.

It was harder than he thought. Studying was not his forte, watching, analyzing, and noting plays. He was already in his third year, being scouted by teams and people hoping to sponsor the young owl. Admittedly he would doze off while studying more often than not. Books just didn’t hold his attention, words running together as his eyes glazed over.

It registered while watching a professional match for the Tachibana Red Falcons. Their outside hitter had this gleam in his eye, a type of calculation similar to the one from Kenma or Tsukishima during a rather grueling match. But it also reminded him of the pure joy a good hit brought Hinata or Akaashi finding a good book nook. Yet with the occasional miss 8 never lost his cool, his eyes almost glowing in the zoomed in lens of the camera. Harshly slapping his libero on the back with a laugh before settling back into the game. Maybe it was from studying, he wasn't sure. Kuroo had encouraged the golden eyed boy anyway when he had asked for study material. Though Bokuto was vague, unsure what he truly wanted.

“I’m not sure what you’re after… but it never hurts to brush up on skills that may come in handy. Stimulate that prefrontal cortex!” Kuroo said, followed by a rant on the chemical effects of studying with music on the brain versus how stress can cause a chemical imbalance leading to more health problems which could definitely be bad for a rising athlete. It took 15 minutes of that before Kenma dragged his captain away for some treat or game. Bokuto hadn’t gotten much sleep that night, watching clips of number 8 over and over again. Catching that gleam before moments of success and after failures. He knew that look, had seen it before in more people on the courts than he could count. But the meaning behind it came no easier than passing calculus. No matter how much or what he studied, number 8 seemed to make less sense.

“It’s just determination Bokuto-san,” Akaashi sighed, disrupting the steam wafting from his tea cup. “Something you have. More than anyone I know. Perhaps you’re just worried? Try relaxing.” So he tried it. Managed to convince his sister to hand over a face mask, bath bomb, and candle with a gentle reminder of her drunkenly puking her guts out all over mom’s Dior scarf three weeks ago  The water was nice, not too hot not too cold. The face mask was drying little by little. Yet that image wouldn’t leave his minds eye. Something about that glint called to him, rattled around his head and pressed right between his eyes. He just couldn’t let go. It made relaxing all but impossible.

“He’s got fire! He wants to beat them Bokuto-san! You know like-” Hinata shouts making a wild arm swing, serving Kageyama’s milk-box out of his hands. Their teams had just finished multiple practice sets, scores settling into 6-5 with Fukurodani taking lead. It was tricky going up against Karasuno, they were never afraid to take risky moves. Bokuto had a feeling that no matter how much you attempted to study them, they would also have something new up their sleeve to throw you off. The next set has Bokuto out for the count, upset beyond belief that he may not be as competitive as he thought. See, Bokuto had seen very little video of himself, but what little he saw there was no spark. At least, not the same as number 8. It seemed to spark for only moments before being blown out by the other team, or the video simply ended. With himself essentially benched Bokuto watched, scanning each and every player for that same look. As the game went on the same happened to his teammates and friends. Embers of the gleam, nothing close to that of the Red Falcon’s number 8.

It didn’t leave him for weeks.

Haunted him in almost every class until he saw it once more. To play volleyball one has to be healthy, maintain muscle mass, and a bunch of other things that he didn’t care to remember from a volleyball magazine. So, morning jogs were more normal than he’d care to admit. It took more energy to roll over and turn off his 6am alarm than he would care to admit but nonetheless he sleepily stumbled into the activewear he’d set out the night before.

Saturdays in early January are notoriously cold so he bundled up a bit more than he usually would. ‘Can’t have my sweet baby getting sick now!’ his mother’s voice echoed, always coddling the youngest of her three children. With a huff he shut the front door, shaking off his drowsiness as he began his 5 mile run. He was half way through, just turning around when he saw it. A woman, arm tightly linked through what Bokuto could only assume was her husband’s.

It was too early for Tokyo’s noise, the sun barely peaking above the horizon. It was barely a second, a quiet moment shared between the two. It was how he looked at her, that decided gleam, though a bit softer around the edges than what he had seen of number 8.

He was an idiot. There was only one possibility. One similarity between this old man’s eyes and number 8′s. Something so complex it was easy. It was in everyone’s eyes, something everyone shared but was different for everyone. It was obvious now. Something he had and will have for years to come. The one thing it could be.

Love.

“Akaashi!” The cry pulled the boy’s eyes away from his book just in time to be met with the wide grin of his friend.

“Yes Bokuto-san?” He mumbled, stepping around the dual haired captain and continuing on his way to school. “Don’t you live in the opposite direction?”

Bokuto waved off the latter question, a jump in his step as he took Akaashi by the shoulders and turned him so they were face to face.

That certainly caught the dark haired boy’s attention. So he settled his bookmark into place and looked up, cocking an eyebrow in question.

“I figured it out. What I’ve been missing! Not missing exactly but you know- its there but not exactly. It isn’t something I could grab onto anyway so I-”

“Bokuto-san,” Bokuto halted at Akaashi’s voice, almost vibrating in excitement. “What are you missing but not missing?”

Bokuto closed his eyes and took a deep inhale, imagining that gleam once more before opening his eyes.

It made even Akaashi’s breath stutter in surprise. Bokuto’s golden eyes had never shown so brilliantly, capturing his attention like never before.

“Love.”

[tamagochiie]

i'd love to see me from your point of view ; bokuto kotarou

synposis: loving yourself had always been quite the challenge, but loving yourself with the same vigor as bokuto loves you was twice as hard.

tags: angst, comfort/fluff, established relationship

warnings: mentions of depression, insecure reader, self-loathing.

notes: this is a BIT of a self insert. this week has just been super painful. i’d like a refund please. if i missed any warnings, please tell me! 

Bokuto's hands are just as big as the rest of him, and it always made you wonder just how much he could hold in the palm of his hand. You imagine it could carry lots of things like six medium oranges, maybe a whole volleyball, or maybe even the whole world. But you never bothered to imagine his hands would be able to sustain all the weight your insecurities burden you with.

You had been so careful, walking on egg shells around Bokuto with pandora's box in your hands, not wanting to bother him with something so lame as your problems.

But you had been caught, unable to dissipate the throbbing, constricting feeling in your chest and suppress your urge to cry.

He comes home a earlier than usual, and you don't notice the click of the door shutting or the foot steps treading lightly towards you until you feel the cushion dip beside you.

Your body tenses and you choke back a sob. You keep your eyes strained down to your feet, embarrassment flushing your cheeks a bright strawberry red.

Oh, god, you think, panic quickly rises to your chest like steam. Oh god, oh god, oh god.

Bokuto's hands--calloused with a few scars from training and rough to the touch, yet it gives you all the comfort you need--hold the sides of your face, pulling you towards him until your foreheads meet.

You raise your hands up to chest, acting as a barrier between you and his attempts to break through to you.

"Hey," His voice is soft, barely above a whisper and dripping with honey as he rolls your name off his tongue with ease. "Would'ya look at me, please?"

You shake your head.

You screw your eyes tightly shut when you feel his hand ghost down to your chin, lifting your head up just a little to meet his eyes, but he frowns deeply.

Even beneath the hollow lighting of the apartment, your wet cheeks, puffy eyes, and the way you harshly bite your bottom lip doesn't go unnoticed.

Bokuto's heart cracks bit by bit the longer he studies you, and you begin to grow a little uneasy, uncomfortably shifting beneath his intense gaze and the unsettling silence pervading throughout the living room.

"Talk to me?" He begs, voice still smooth and unwavering.

He wants to help. Seeing you so unusually unravelled into a sobbing mess has him growing desperate. But he doesn't want to push you, worried you'll only close up.

And you can't find the words nor the courage to tell him how ulgy you feel. How can you tell him, the one person who looks at you like your his whole world, that you cried at the sight of your reflection as you walked home today?

How do you tell him you count your calories, pinch the little fat sticking out of your jeans? How do you tell him you hate the way you smile or the way your hair falls no matter how many times you try to fix it?

So he opts to cup your cheeks once again before pressing a kiss to your cheek, lips ghosting over your skin and down to your lips, kissing you feverishly--desperately like he's giving you all the air in his lungs to keep you breathing through your pain.

He smiles against your lips when he feels you slowly melting into his touch. He takes it as an opportunity; his hands fall from your face and move down to your shoulders, gently massaging your trust back.

But you flinch when you feel his hands fall down to your waist, immediately growing conscious of your lack of curves, and you begin to worry if he can feel the weight you've gained.

And it doesn't go unnoticed by him.

Despite common belief, Bokuto has always been attentive, especially when it comes to you. So it clicks like pieces to a puzzle he didn't know he was trying to solve, and he realizes his mistake.

He’d noticed it before, the way you’d count how many bowls of rice you’ve eaten, or the way you’ve become determined to take a certain amount of steps. But he never really knew just how to approach you. Whenever you had fallen in such a state, he saw you as glass and he knew if he tried to help, he’d only shatter you. 

But he always felt guilty leaving you alone. Though he’d never seen you completely break like this, and he feels completely responsible. Maybe if he hadn’t stayed away and come running to your side, would it have gotten this bad?

"Please," You whimper shamefully, eyes still screwed shut as you try to pull away.

"I-I'm so sorry." He whines, his voice cracking as well as the rest of the pieces of his heart.

He throws his arms around you, flushing you against his chest to hold you as tight and as lovingly as possible. But you tense up, panic flooding through your veins like an open water damn. You try to push him away, but he won't budge.

"G-Get off." You huff, but he only shakes his head. "Ko, please.” 

“No.” 

“Please.” 

He presses a kiss in the dip of your neck, trailing all the up to your jaw, brushing over your cheeks and onto your lips. You try to shake him off--even pull away, but he’s adamant. 

He was never one to listen to you anyway. 

He pulls away, resting his forehead agains yours. “You’re enough for me.” He says it with conviction, pressing chest against yours to have you feel every beat of his heart drumming for you and only you. “For all of your pretty, and all of your ugly too--you’re enough for me. More than enough.” 

“I feel disgusting!” You wail, finally breaking. “I hate the way I look, Ko. It doesn’t matter what I wear, how my hair’ll look, or how much weight I lose--I still feel so disgusting.” 

Bokuto shakes his head, bringing his hand up to cradle your head. He feels your body wracking other sob, your voice guttural and laced in pure sorrow. He shuts his eyes, lips quivering as he begins to join you in your cries. 

“I’m so sorry.” He blubbers. 

You flick open, and you try to look at him through glossy eyes and the heaviness of your lashes. You can’t see much, but you can tell just enough that he’s crying. 

And it only makes you cry even harder. 

“I don’t like feeling this way,” You admit. “I can usually bear it--its easier most days, but lately its just been so hard and I can’t--I can’t seem to pull myself together.” 

He gently wipes away your tears, and bit by bit you see him a little clearer. You see the pain seared in his eyes, but it completely melts away and is immediately clouded with determination; his whole disposition shifts. 

He straightens his posture, his hand settles to the back of your head as he keeps his gaze trained on you. 

“I can’t promise that I’ll make you fall in love with yourself, but I promise I’ll fill the gaps, and I’ll make you see just how I see you: absolutely beautiful.” 

He feathers kisses over your face, his touch a lot more gentle than before, each kiss more loving than the last. And you finally relax, letting everything you kept so carefully pushed down spill over like glass at it’s limit. 

“I’ll share a little light with you every time you feel bit blue. I’ll give you the hope you need, I’ll be your anchor, so don’t hide from me anymore? Please?” 

Would be alright to trust him? Would it be okay to lean? Even if deem yourself so underserving would it be okay?

“It’s okay,” He whispers, his breath fanning against your skin. “You can trust me.” 

[haikyuudescendants]

my haikyuu multi-chapter fic (main post!)

¡hey! ¿vienes buscando información sobre mi fanfic "rotten apples come out of cursed trees"? aquí está todo lo que necesitas saber.

título: rotten apples come out of cursed trees. pairings: daishou suguru/bokuto kotarou, kageyama tobio/hinata shouyou, daichi sawamura/sugawara koushi. ¿dónde leer?: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50609434

worldbuilding.

https://www.wattpad.com/story/375374000-rotten-apples-come-out-of-cursed-trees-haikyuu

por favor consulta las advertencias de contenido en los tags.

presentación de personajes parte 1, parte 2, parte 3, parte 4. mapas oficiales.

extras.

tablero de pinterest. playlist oficial.

si quieres buscar todos los fanarts que he hecho a lo largo de los años sobre este universo, simplemente usa el tag #racooct en mi blog.